Sword and Song
by wkz
Summary: A singer without a voice. A sword with a soul. A villain of status wanting what is his. Hordes of Process chasing them down. Secrets and organizations prodding them along. What's the big secret, causing two separate dimensions to hound these two? Why is it in the hands of these unlikely souls? What, exactly, is the Transistor? A Worm(world) Transistor(storyline) short story fusion.
1. Start() 1

**Start()  
1.0**

I… where am I?

Oh, right. I'm still here. Stuck in this.

She's there, my brave girl, holding on, in more meanings than one. Betrayed and homeless, by people with too little compassion, too much ambition, too little kindness and too much cruelty. Driven away by those for whom she cared and still cared, plummeted by those who had threatened and framed, unforgiven by those who protect and serve.

Funny bedfellows, her opponents.

It's not her fault. It never had. Doesn't change things. She's still a victim. A strong one, as odd as the statement may seem.

The light rain continues to fall on Capitol Hill. The view is breathtaking. The contents, not so much. Brockton Bay was a rotting town. Brockton Bay is a dying town. It shows; from the distance we see the unkept look of half the town's buildings and the abandoned collapse of an entire district. Too little of its pedestrians are moving with purpose, too little of its traffic is new or well-kept.

Seems nothing but bad fate has happened here, and on that good people did some pretty bad decisions; driven to anger, dragged by fear, they forgot about what they should treasure. And so they crippled its economy, killing its future in the process. Villains were lured in, outnumbering the heroes on the streets at least two to one. And those in true power hate both sides just the same.

Place's a mess. Only Endbringers can make it worse.

It's perfect. We'll fit right in.

I've heard of some good people trying to make it better, arrest the slide. I wish them luck, but I hold out no hope. After all, I've spent nearly all my life trying to make things better by everyone. Look where it brought me.

A cranky soul beside a broken bird.

I see her standing there. I know that look, the pose, those slumped shoulders, that lack of expression.

What little drops of tears she manages to shed from her eyes is lost before it can make any impact, washed away by the larger flow of rainfall on her face.

Appropriate really.

"Hey," I said, "Cheer up. Help's down there. All you have to do is to walk in, dodge the cops and find the Palanquin. Gregor's down there, he'll remember you. He'll think of something."

As usual, she does not reply. I've caught her humming from time to time, so I know her voice's still all right. But sometimes, I wonder. Wonder if on top of everything she lost her hearing, or worse. Sometimes I wonder if she simply refuses to hear my voice.

Then again, I know she chooses not to reply to anyone. She chooses not to talk at all.

I know why. I know she's afraid.

If she has her way, it'll stay that way forever.

Not on my watch.

She closes her eyes. The little moment of melancholy is over. I feel my spirits lift as it always does, watching her transform, once more the brave confident woman. Nobody will recognize her from the scared, broken girl just now.

The gloomy skies seem that bit brighter, just for that.

We walk into town, she and I.

Or rather, she walks, and I get carried in.

"Hey Paige," I quip as she slides my prison back between her back and her jacket, hiding the tinker sword from sight, "Ever heard of Fugly Bob's?"


	2. Start () 2

**Start()  
2.0**

"Watch out. Guy in the corner, looking at ya."

She didn't flinch, didn't even look.

She just glances in the other direction.

To everyone else, she is window shopping. To her, she is looking at a reflection.

Smart girl.

"That man's bad news, rough and suspicious. Trying to stay inconspicuous at the mouth of an alleyway? Sure as hell he's setting up an ambush. Keep away. No matter what, turn to your right, and walk away."

She nods. And turns… left? She turns left.

Dammit.

"Don't! There's fights, and there's stupid fights. Don't pick a stupid fight. Please. Turn right. Walk away."

She continues onwards.

Sigh.

Guess I am right about the other too. Man's a ruffian. Scruffy, mismatched, dirty, he wears unkept like a badge. And he's out looking for trouble.

No sooner does she walk by, he reaches out, grabs an arm and pulls her in.

As we enter the shadow of the alleyway, Sniggers echoes around us. He has pals too. Similarly uncouth. Mirrors of thuggery.

They share the colors on their clothes too. Shit, they're in a gang.

And Brockton Bay's gangs are nothing to scoff at.

"Paige!" I shout.

I need not have worried.

There is a burst. My prison flares.

My girl takes out the sword from where she has hidden it, slowly, gracefully. She has all the time in the world. Or rather, there's no time for everyone else. Not in this unmoving world. A parallel world of blue dots, white buildings and dark green. More blue appears, lines drawing themselves on the ground, sometimes sprouting orange tracers.

In the real world, it is over in an instant. Five would-be kidnapping ruffians fall to the ground.

She takes a deep breath. The tinker device continues to flare, electronic lines burning on its surface as it recovers.

"Stupid!" I shout, anger following relief. "You do not want to fight. You do not want to attract attention to…"

She interrupts me. Her mouth moves. Soundlessly.

I still hear her, loud as day. "Practice. I need more practice."

I know what she means even before the last word leaves her lips.

"Paige Mcabee, you do not need to do this. You're free. I've set you free. Sing. Enjoy life. Settle down. Be free."

But I know the lie in my words. I know her. I know her opponents.

With them out there, she will never be free. With my prison in her arms, they will never leave her alone. She will always have to run… or fight.

Sorry. 'And' fight. I have to face facts. Fighting is inevitable.

Maybe she's correct after all.

"Never mind," I say, "I remember this place. Palanquin's up ahead."

She nods, hides the sword once more.

Together, we leave the dark alleyway.


	3. Start() 3

**Start()  
3.0**

Palanquin.

Sixth hottest spot in town. Faultline's current headquarters.

Gregor's current residence.

Almost doesn't recognize the place. Not without the queue, the nighttime crowd. Daylight does the place no favors.

She walks to the entrance with no hesitation. Uses the knocker built on the door.

We wait.

Another round of knocking. No response.

By the fourth try, I throw in the towel. "Let's go for lunch. They'll be back later."

She takes my suggestion on the sixth. Wordlessly turning away, she walks down onto the sidewalk, towards Kings Street.

The way she walks; she appears confident, and I dare say regal. She looks like she owns everything in sight. And she feels professional too.

Maybe a bit too much. Almost appears scornful, cold.

I still remembered seeing her the first time, in person. The lightshow was blinding, the stage was far, but I managed. She was singing one of the favorites. Sensual, inviting, alluring, she slithered rather than moved, matched her song's theme, yet another of hundreds of teen bait about love and lovers.

I know her, I am with her. I almost cannot connect the her of then to this person, walking towards the business district.

Neat trick.

Not one of mine. My trade is to make clients more personable, their opponents untrustworthy. Not disguises through acts.

Remembering the past, I recall another. When I first spoke to her, face to face.

The small room was well lit, but spartan. So impersonal, it might as well be a dungeon. The chains on her arms and legs completed the look.

She was scared, afraid, guilty, frightened. She shrunk into herself. Hiding, away from me, away from the world.

I'm glad I rescued her from that.

I'm so glad.

We are now in King's Street. And I've forgotten; it is a bad place to be.

The business crowd storms from their towering bastions of concrete and glass, flooding the streets.

There'll be little eating here; the few eateries we see mobbed in long, time-consuming queues.

We move onwards.

It took a while. But we finally find a place.

Heh. We actually find ourselves in Fugly Bob's.

With a shrug, she enters, orders her food with pointing and charades, and sits.

Soon enough, her burger arrives.

I laugh at her expression, as she experimentally lifts a patty.

She almost speaks, even.

As much as I hate to say this, it was good she didn't; by context, it will be a swearword. Most swears are sexual, did you notice that?

Too many bad memories from swearing. And too many teens in here too. Brrrr…

We exit from the place, her hunger unsated. She had only eaten the fries, leaving behind the burger in disgust. And…

She tenses up.

Huh? I follow her sight.

Oh shit.

Ohhhh shit.

The bright white bastard's just standing there. Mocking us. Taunting us.

Declaring to us, by its mere presence.

The Processes are here, in Brockton Bay.


	4. Start() 4

**Start()  
4.0**

She does not hesitate.

The Tinker sword flares, a cold fire illuminating our surroundings through her jacket. The alternate twilight world of green descends around the white enemy. Tracers draw themselves on the ground as she pulls the sword out of its hiding place, already drawing out the future.

Plans complete, she activates the Turn.

In the real world, she simply disappears from view.

Only coincidence will allow the public to spot her as she reappears, behind the white creep spying on us.

Maybe I shall name all of them Creep, in honor of this one.

The white anomaly reacts, turning as it throws itself to one side. But it is out of time. It just does not know that yet.

An unspoken command flows through the handle. I feel my harnessed essence shiver, my trapped soul flare.

A blue flare of light escapes the broad blade. Flying true, it pierces the four legged creep square in the middle of its teardrop body. The blast continues beyond the target, dissipating in an empty spot on the road, an empty spot between vehicles in the traffic.

Well. I wouldn't say my personality is piercing, but it fits.

The Creep staggers. But it does not die, does not dissipate. If only it is this easy.

Yeah, yeah. I know. But I say nothing. She knows. We've met Processes before.

Another flare of energy builds, a burning mix of orange and red. It bursts into an explosion as the sword crashes onto the ground, causing a wave of destructiveness. The colorful air reaches the Creep, spinning it over, stunning it.

She certainly is stunning.

I let the sword harness me one more time. The alley turns blue once more. And it is done.

The Tinker swords glows, its aura burning. Circuitry traces bright lines on the blade. The centerpiece orb twinkles where it is recessed into the thick blade.

Time resumes.

Traffic screeches, reacting too late to the bolts unleashed earlier. Someone screams.

Someone else screams, pointing at us…

… no. Not at us. Not at us at all.

"Paige!" I shout, "Behind you! Back Back Back_Backbackbackback!_"

She does not look behind. She does not question. She trusts me instead, dashing into the stopped traffic without looking back.

"Jerk! You big Jerk! Using one of your buddies as bait, will you!?"

A huge shape with the white skin of a Process bursts out of the alleyway, tearing gorges onto both walls with its bulk, creating a shower of dislodged bricks as it charges us.

Its comically simple body of an orb of white with a red spherical crystal insert supports the three smooth domes making its upper body. Two 'arms' sprout out from both sides, below the domes, each a thick multi-segmented piston ending with a spike.

The 'hands' pound onto the floor, creating a visible effect of white and red, leaving gorges of destroyed sidewalk behind.

Well, I know _exactly_ what to name it.

"Not yet! Halfway there!" I shout as she clears the other side of the street and dashes along the suddenly empty sidewalk. "Dodge left!"

She narrowly avoids the pickup flipped over by the Jerk.

Pausing, she turns. I feel the tug on my self.

"Oh no," I start, "Don't."

The Jerk pulls out of the hole of traffic it just made in the roadway. It turns, facing us.

"The time to charge up without a Turn is too long!"

It starts to pound the ground again, the two stumpy legs moving its bulk towards us.

"Paige…"

A mailbox in the Jerk's way disappears, flattened in one blow.

"Run! Back up! You're cutting it too close…"

The store beside us loses its window as the Jerk's explosions shatters the glass.

"Paige!"

Another piercing bolt of blue lashes out.

It does not even stagger the Process.

But it does not matter. Looming tall in front of us, the Process stops.

The world stops.

The twilight has descended.

We win.

The Jerk just does not know it yet.


	5. Start() 5x

**Start()  
5.x**

The hall was perfect. Pairs of paintings hang on its walls on each side, exactly at the same intervals along their walls. The potted plants were placed exactly a third of the distance from the main doors, pruned or changed daily into a perfect oval shape. Every surface was spotless. Every piece of furniture had a symmetrical pair, except for a bowl placed just so on that specific table.

A person can be forgiven for thinking there were tricks being played by mirrors in this room.

That same person would be taught to respect this beauty in the next few minutes, or die, if he was lucky. And the reason would be the man seated on the large well-oiled mahogany desk that was the centerpiece of this room.

He wasn't particularly threatening, or even large. The mask with the curling overlapping bands of dark metal trimmed in silver was the only physical indication he was of any threat. He was also… neat. Everything that was him, his clothes, his chair, table and room, everything he could see was neat, arranged and cleaned to exacting standards.

He even polished and cleaned his clothing before any item in his schedule without fail.

But somehow, he was a presence, a forceful personality amplifying his size out of all semblance of reality.

Accord was a villain, and it showed.

There was a buzz, exactly on the dot of the second hand crossing the vertical. A voice, sharp and clipped, delivered precisely the information and nothing more.

"A folder came. May I deliver it?"

Accord replied by pressing the intercom's buzzer.

The doors opened, both doors mirroring each other, moving at exactly the same speeds, stopping at the same spots. It took exactly 23 steps for Accord's secretary to reach his desk, and another 23 steps for her to exit the room.

Almost 20 seconds later, Accord was alone once more in his room, with a newly deposited manila envelope on his desk. He waited five seconds before he opened the document, noting with distaste the counter-clockwise direction used on the string to seal the flap.

Inside was two pieces of paper. A typed report and a black and white photograph. Inside the photograph was a woman. A beautiful woman sprawled on the street, leaning against a bent lamppost.

The woman was wearing a smudged business suit a size too big for her, under which was what appeared to be a, expensive dinner dress, torn and dirty. Her hair was nearly white in the photograph, and it was decorated with feathers in a plumage which would have been beautiful if tended to. It was not.

Beyond and around her was a scene of destruction, the pulverized walkway decorated with flipped cars and pulverized blocks. Storefronts and sidewalk amenities laid bent, shattered and cracked, all manners of debris smashed and scattered about.

All this mess, the unmanaged potential of beauty ruined, it would have irritated Accord to no end… if not for the object the woman was holding and leaning against her shoulder.

"The Transistor." He exhaled.

In five minutes, the report was read and absorbed, facts absorbed and verified trice over. Accord closed his eyes, feeling his powers getting to work. The more complex a problem, the more likely he would find a solution.

And find it he did.

A piece of paper was retrieved. A pen was selected, carefully removed from its meticulously arranged peers. A buzzer was pressed, at the bottom of the half minute.

He would write a message in 45 seconds, five simple instructions with a complexity all out of odds behind them. His secretary would reach his desk just in time to pick it up nearly immediately, and have the message typed into an email in less than five minutes.

Coil would probably ask for a large fee.

Accord would give it freely.

After all, the Transistor was his.

And he wanted it back above all.


	6. Fate() 6

**Fate()  
6.0**

She's asleep now.

Went out like someone switched off a light.

Can't blame her. It was a busy day. Terrifying day.

If I still have a body, I would probably have done the same.

If I have a body.

Damn me for my own reminder.

Can't walk up to her. Can't comfort her. Can't hold her in my arms. Can't wipe her tear-streaked face clean.

Can't kiss her.

Not the first time I hate my current situation. Still stings every single time. And I guess not the last.

Can't sleep too. Which is perfect, usually. I can act a sentry as she sleeps.

Usually. Not this time however.

This isn't the wild wilderness. Or a dirty alley in a dark corner. Or a bench in a park. Or any other spot wide open to attack by animals, and people-shaped animals.

Motel room's dirty, smelly and falling apart. But it's cheap. And there's an implied safety here.

Implied.

I hope the limits of this room hold firm, the privacy remaining true. Any danger will be hidden until they're already in here, right on top of us. I certainly can't look through walls.

I know. I tried.

So… Paige's asleep. I'm stuck in a mockery of a weapon.

Can't sleep. Can't make myself useful. Nobody and nothing to pass the time with.

So for the first time since I got into this prison, since we started running, I have nothing to do.

This sucks... Oh wait. I feel that.

My prison's not empty.

I'm inside, of course. But there're others with me.

Let's see now.

I stretch out metaphorically. I reach out, an odd indescribable feeling. I feel stretched, but I feel more. An open vastness inside my tight confines.

What an odd feeling.

With my consciousness, I explore my confines.

Hey, here's a list. How convenient. I read the top entry.

Marquis. A nobleman of hereditary rank?

Wait… Why does that name seem so familiar? Putting that aside, I read the next few entries.

. …  
Gavel  
Crane  
Ingenue  
Perdition  
Ling  
Yi  
Teacher

Just some random words. It doesn't even seem to be arranged properly in any order.

. …  
Butcher

Wait, isn't that also the name of a…

. …  
Black Kaze

I pause. I realize. These are not random words in a list. This is a list of parahumans. Capes, people with powers.

Also, the names themselves. The people they represent. I begin to suspect.

I browse on, skimming the list.

. …  
Blasto  
Acidbath  
Lab Rat

Valefor  
Lustrum  
String Theory

Glaistig Uaine

The latest name settles it.

This is not just any group of capes; I do not recognize all the names here, but I recognize enough.

These are the names of capes sent to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. The inaccessible one-way prison managed by the most powerful tinker in the world, Dragon.

I know. I've done my research.

Had to do it at the time. I couldn't let Paige get a one way ticket into that hell.

I read on.

. …  
Lung  
Ash Beast  
Ablaster  
Sleeper

Blasphemy of Fate  
Blasphemy of Time  
Blasphemy of Agency

Moord Nag  
Sun Tze  
Heartbreaker  
Canary

And I stop. I am stunned.

I reread the latest names again.

Hey Paige, your name's in here.

And right after that, so is mine. Curious. I most certainly isn't one. A parahuman, I mean.

A thought comes to me. An idea. And it doesn't let go.

This tinker device is a prison, a cage of my soul. What if… this parody of a sword IS a prison?

What if this is the true form of the Birdcage?

The more I think of it, the more the clues seem to fit.

But… something's wrong.

The way we encountered them, acquired the sword. It doesn't match.

There's no way a villain will get a hold of this device.

And nobody loses something like this. Not something this important. Not without a fight. Not without a crater in the ground…

I stop my line of thought. Something's happening.

She stirs, awakening.

She has forgotten to close the drapes, and the morning sunlight from the window is punishing her for that mistake.

Has it been this long already?

Well, something to think about later.

"Hey sleepyhead. The sun's shining in your eyes already. Wakie wakie."

She smiles, an expression as radiant as the sunlight. And then she throws the moth-bitten pillow at my prison.

Another thought crosses my mind. Not the first time, and I guess not the last.

Well, what I did. It is totally worth it.


	7. Fate() 7

**Fate()  
7.0**

We make it out of the garnish, ill-repaired front door as the morning wore off, an excellent example of the neighborhood. There's no real reason to check out this early.

Guess the motel's cheapness holds as many minuses as the plusses.

At least she had time to clean up. Been a long time since her last shower. Running from everyone does that to you.

"Hey, Paige. There's a park to your right. We can spend some time there. Feed the pigeons, enjoy the sun. You know, relax a bit."

She looks to the side, pondering.

"You can use some," I push my point.

She nods agreement, changing directions.

We pause at the entrance, the path splitting in three directions, a graffiti filled signboard pointing out the directions.

We choose the forest route.

Trees line both sides of the twilight path, golden leaves forming a messy carpet. Their large canopies form a ceiling against the sun, holding in the fresh, cool morning air.

We walk on wordlessly, meandering without purpose. Occasionally, I point out a sight or two, and one time she stops to smell the roses.

The unkept nature has an unexpected beauty to it. The walk is enjoyable.

As all things do, the path ends.

There is still a little time to while away before we have to go to the Palanquin, to see if Gregor is in.

She eyes another path. This one cuts through the mowed grass, the picnic fields. We take it.

The field of grass is spotty at places, but it isn't too bad. Occasional trees break the monotony, just as ill-managed as the spotty grass.

There's a seat, nearby, under a scraggy tree. She reaches it, pushing it with one arm. Finding it dry and sturdy, she takes out the broadsword, sits, and lays the tinker device across her laps. Wriggling herself into comfort, she stretches her arms along the top of the seat's shoulder-high back.

Together, we watch a father and son play catch. The kid is obviously too young for the activity. He fumbles an easy catch, chasing the rolling ball with the awkwardness of the recently walking. The return throw falls way too short of the adult. Yet we can feel the unbridled joy from both players as the male picks up the ball, and then the child, twirling both in the air.

She smiles at their antics. A soundless laugh escapes her lips.

The sun is warm but not hot, a nice feeling against the skin where it shines through what little leaves remains. A cool breeze makes itself known, a gentle touch of moving air in slight gusts. The day continues lazily, drowsily…

I barely see the flicker in the forest in time.

My shout of warning turns her head.

A hole the size of her palm appears just below her right elbow.

She lets out a startled yelp as twilight descends.

We're under attack.


	8. Fate() 8

**Fate()  
8.0**

There isn't much to consider, little to choose.

We're in a wide open field, nothing we can really use to hide us from view.

There's the bench, but it is clearly useless to hide behind it. The gaps in the wooden seat are wide, it can't hide us. The bullet has punched clear through the bench's wooden frame, it can't shield us.

The only good place to hide from whoever's shooting at us is the lone tree we've been using as shade.

So our options are simple.

We run towards our assailant. In the twilight world, my girl can cover a great distance in an instant, and so she will be right on top of the shooter in seconds.

But there are limits.

We can stay paused in the twilight forever, planning our next move to our heart's desire. We can act quickly when we burst out, the tinker sword granting Paige a moment of accelerated haste. In that moment, we can cover distances in a blink, layer action on top of action in a moment.

But there are limits. To the actions we can take. To the distances we can cover. And the forest's too far.

We'll be exposed for a moment. A moment right before we enter the forest, a moment where we'll be vulnerable.

Or, we can bunker down behind the tree. We know where our attacker's shooting from. We can stay safely out of view for the moment, gather our wits, watch what happens. We can force him to act, and counter him when he does so.

The choice is simple.

Offense or defense.

Action or reaction.

Lines of paths draw themselves through the grass, a straight line towards the edge of the forest.

She chooses to act.

I am not surprised. She had chosen to react once, back then. It had cost her.

With a flare of green flame, my tinker tech prison dispels the twilight. We are suddenly not where we used to be.

There is a yell, a yelp of surprise.

There, a pair of soldiers with rifles of some sort.

Paige runs towards them, as they turn towards us. The sword in her hands glows, the burning glow gathering in its frame.

With a blink, we are again not where we used to be.

Perdition's ability, or rather the sword's ability, as it harnesses his essence, as it bares open the essence of his soul, powering the device differently. Or so I understand.

The two soldiers spot us behind them too late.

The green blade flares again, etched lines of green glowing ethereal in the morning twilight. Another soul in my prison powers the device, breaking reality.

My girl plunges the blade onto the ground on instinct.

Orbs of power forms balls of green around us, and white shells enclose the spheres from out of nowhere.

The spheres explode.

The world becomes white.

* * *

In the sudden clearing, we look around. The two soldiers are down, their bodies turned to mush. There are no other attackers.

It is over.

Seeing Paige's face, I guess it will be some time before we use Bakuda's ability again. It is powerful, but it is too indiscriminate.

Too lethal.

She kneels beside the slain. The handle slips from her grasp.

Her stomach has nothing to offer to the dead. But she involuntarily tries anyway, heaving on all fours.

Even after everything we've been through, I still forget. She has never been a fighter, before or after. It has only been a mere month since, and before that she has put her powers into entertainment, not fighting.

She's still the same sentimental innocent to the world, showing me how inexperienced she is in surprising ways.

And that's why when Paige collapses onto the ground, I barely react. Instead, I am preparing to console her, to tell her it is a necessary evil, that they forced her hand, that it's not really her fault. Even if it is.

A person walking into view from around a tree is the last thing I expect.

"Paige!" I shout.

She does not react.

The man approaches carefully, his body tense and ready to act. His eyes stay on her the whole time.

A large snail-like monstrosity follows him into the clearing.

There are three in total… well, what's left of them. Two persons and a monster.

All three of them are dressed in black and red, but differently. One looks like a Sharman in western finery, complete with a tophat. Another is armored bulkily, his mask a squarish cube with cutouts. And the slug… is a slug, wearing nothing, its skin the same red and black as its teammates.

"Paige! Wake up!" I shout ineffectually as they approach.

She does not stir.

"Paige!" I continue to shout, knowing the futility in my heart, but refusing to accept it.

It is obvious. Her unconsciousness is unnatural.

They got us.

Helplessly, I watch as they manhandle my girl. With some wirestraps and lifting, they have her astride the slug.

The man in the armor picks me up. I say nothing. There is nothing to be said to the likes of thugs and hired muscle.

At the gates of the park, there are two white, unmarked vans to meet our assailants.

We're separated. The person with the tophat joins the slug, bringing an unconscious and tied up Paige along with them. The armored cape takes me with him to the second van.

There is little space for him; most of the van's floor is occupied by a large black box, a long and thin container similar to those for pool cues, but wider.

As the van starts to move, he sits himself onto a little camping foldout stool on the side and opens the box.

The box's interior is lined with felt, and in the center is a very familiar depression.

He slots the Tinker sword into the snug outline made for it.

The cover closes.

Darkness falls.


	9. Fate() 9

**Fate()  
9.0**

It is entirely too long before I see any light again.

The first face I see is almost comical, if not for the circumstances.

A man wearing a skin suit looks into the box. The black costume covers every inch of him, his face lacking even the usual openings for eyes, nose and mouth. The fabric's only decoration is a white snake painted into the fabric, and the costume tightly clings to the man enough to see the details of a thin, almost skeletal body underneath.

The face of the snake on the forehead almost seems to glow with the halo of ceiling lights around him.

The man reaches a thin hand into the box. Grasping the handle, he lifts my prison out of the prison that was its box, allowing me to view my surroundings.

We are in a corner of a room, an empty enclosed place too empty, impersonal. The four walls lay bare, four of slabs of poured concrete unadorned with windows, and the ceiling is spotted with blinding florescent lights.

And in the center of the room is my girl, in a scene straight from the mind of some sick fucker.

She is seated on a chair, the minimalistic dull metal frame bolted to the floor. Metal bracings bind her to the seat and the chair's armrests, only leaving her feet free to move. She has clearly been crying, tear marks easily seen from the reflections on her naked body. And on her skin, the red welts of whip marks …

"Damn you!" I shout. "Damn you to hell for this, you mother-"

"Hmmm, curious," the Villain in the skin suit interrupts me.

He holds up the tinker sword to the side, examining it in the harsh white light from the ceiling. His attention shifts to my poor girl with her head bowed and hidden in her feathered hair, and back to the sword itself.

"It seems the Transistor may be reacting to your… state," he said, pulling each word longer than needed

What I say then cannot be repeated in polite company.

"Maybe I should… coax more reactions out of it."

What happens next is definitely not to be repeated in wholesome company.

* * *

"So… now that that this little experiment is over," Coil says, sounding disappointed, "let's get down to business."

That sick fucker. All the pointless torment, and to him that is a sideshow to what he's really after?

"You don't know do you?" the villain continued, twirling my prison about in his hands, "about the Transistor and its secrets?"

… the Transistor?

This Villain knows enough about the Tinker device to know it's called the Transistor?

Paige, oh my poor Paige, seems to have picked up this implication too. She raises her head to look at the villain. Her movements are groggy, tired.

It _has_ been a while. My heart leaps for her again, and I fervently wish I can do something, anything.

"Oh? I don't know much about this… device, in some ways," the villain confesses as he raises the blade of the weapon off the ground, "but whatever this is, Accord wants it oh so badly."

Accord?

I can see her react to the unknown name, her pose straightening slightly, her eyes getting that bit more attentive. I remember the name too, for the both of us. It'll be useful later, for clues on what happened to us.

If we can get out of this.

"I've never seen such a one-sided… contract for my… assistance before," he voice continues to slither as he stops in front of her seat.

Leaning forward, he put two fingers below her chin the paradoxically soft careful caress out of sorts from what transpired earlier. Gently, he raises her head up until she's looking up into his masked face,

"You, girl, are going to be so… profitable to me."

Paige groggily jerks her head out of his hands, looking away to the left.

A small moment of silence later, the bastard chuckled, _goddamned CHUCKLED at her defiance_, and resumes his pacing to and fro.

"Whatever this is, Accord wants it badly. So very badly. So, naturally, I want to know... and have…" he chuckled at his own private joke, "It's a bad habit of mine… I do owe Accord for a great many things… but…"

Suddenly, he is in motion. His hands are already extended, moving.

There is a trio of loud, tight slaps in the room.

With a deep guttural growl, he snarled, "**You will** tell me your **secrets**!"

I have never felt so impotent up until this moment, watching Paige gasp from the sudden assault, her hands straining in the manacles. She looks away to her left, a temporary defeat born through pain, by the accumulated weight of earlier torment.

Tears rolls down her reddened cheeks as she takes fast, shallow breaths.

But she does not cry out, does not sob.

A small bit of stubbornness, a useless defiant gesture.

But I am so proud of her for that.

So relieved.

She isn't broken

… yet.

Once again, I wish I am not stuck inside this prison, incapable of looking away, unable to do anything.

There is a silent moment in the room, as the anorexic deviant starts to pace in front of the restraining chair again.

"Well, we have some time before I have to hand in the goods… and the girl," he says conversationally, as if the outburst has never happened. A sick chuckle escapes his lips, "I'll just… persuade you tell me before then."

He pauses in his steps, a small hiccup before he resumes, "And don't presume a time limit will help you. In fact, you can expect the opposite; the longer you don't talk, the more… exotic my meas…"

He trails off, not completing the sentence, the word. His head is cocked to the side, as if he is listening to something far off, concentrating on it.

With three sudden quick steps, he walks to the corner of the room, the table where the Transistor's case is. Tossing the tinker sword on top of the closed box without care or concern, he picks up a device from beside the container, flipping a switch as he does so.

"Perimeter check." he says into the walkie talkie, inserting a bud into his ear.

There is a pause.

The sudden flinch is telling.

"All units," the villain ordered, "cover the north gate. South team, rouse our parahuman allies."

Hooking the device to a hidden belt, the Villain turns towards my girl. "It seems I have to put our… fun on hold. I'll be back… shortly."

He opens the door to the room, and takes one step out. As if he cannot resist one last joke, he leans back "Look forward to it."

The door closes, leaving us to our thoughts in the harsh, artificial light.


	10. Fate() 10

**Fate()  
10.0**

Boredom.

It is the last thing a person expects in an interrogation.

Most will think of an undeniable recital of inevitability, a lecture of motives and evidence, given by a man with a steely stare of conviction.

And sometimes popular imagination will spice it up with pain and torment. Garnish it with deviant enthusiasm. Flavor with anger, salt with threats, cook it all on the destruction of hopes. It's always that in popular culture, repeated _ad-infinitum_ in movies, books and rumors of real life.

And yet boredom trumps them all.

That is why I always try not to be tardy to all of my clients' 'hostile interviews'. That is why I hurry myself if I expect it to be worse.

I had two thousand traffic citations to my name for excessive speeding, I have spent countless hours wasting valuable time in coffee houses, all of it just to remove this tool, neutralize it.

All because properly nurtured boredom is the most dangerous interrogation tool of all in my book. It is a simple tool, where even an incompetent with a good set of cliff notes can use, and yet by far the most effective and subtle technique an interrogator can have.

Of course, there are methods to resist, ways to counter.

Unfortunately Paige has not one of those.

I see her, sitting in the chair, her head unbowed only because of the collar around her neck. Cuffs and chains make her restrictions known as she tries to move, the gentle tinkle of metal on metal an audio reminder of her restrains.

A reminder of the power the villain has over her very being, binding her in mind as well as in body.

She can barely turn her head within the limits of her collar, and in her limited vision, only the stark walls of her cell stare back at her, the table and doorway being on her side, in her blind spot. The room is big enough to be curious, to look around, to want to explore, but small and featureless enough to evoke the feeling of being trapped.

A reminder of her capture, trapped in the hands of the villain, the inescapability of her situation.

I know from past experiences her wounds are beginning to ache, the adrenaline holding it at bay having left with the villain. I see the pain and aches take hold in her expression, the little shifts of her posture as she tries to get comfortable, attempting to sooth her wounded skin.

A reminder of her helplessness, the hint of a bleak and painful future beyond.

The bastard hidden in the body stocking has paid attention to even the little things. The bare concrete walls are impersonal, alien. The metal seat's shape is unnatural to a human body, uncomfortable and cold. Her restraints are tight, the lack of movement it cause resulting in a nagging itch to change postures, further reminding her of her restrains.

Even Paige's nakedness is a calculated move, the socially shameful undress remaining uncorrected.

It is a relentless montage of carefully crafted hints, reminders on top of reminders, minute by minute, all constructing the message the villain wants to say, helped along by Paige herself. They batter down her willpower, get past her mental restraints. They fires up her idle thoughts with wild imaginations and dark predictions, her mind working against her owner.

It weakens Paige with every tick of the seconds, both mentally and physically.

And the villain doesn't need to do anything but wait.

In the past, seeing this morbid art being played, I can maybe deal; those were strangers, acquaintances at best. Sometimes, I can even appreciate the skill of the interrogator as I watch them work on their victims.

However, this time, it's Paige in the seat.

I care about her too deeply to detach myself.

Knowing doesn't help. Knowing makes it worse, telling me what exactly is being done to her, letting me know exactly what she is manipulated into feeling, thinking.

Beside her, too near and too far, I shudder where I am, trapped far more completely inside my own prison. I feel her pain, feel her despair, as if it is all my own. It's as if I am the one being interrogated, being put to the pain, even if all I am doing is watching her from my prison.

Not for the first time, I curse my current situation, wishing I am out of the Tinkertech prison with all my heart.

Wishes being wishes, I…

Whatever I want to think of next is lost when the door opens, thrown to the wall with a bang.

The villain in the bodysuit enters.

He is not alone.

Paige jerks her head up in surprise, pulling unconsciously at her hands' buckles in panic as she strains to turn her head to the side. She's obviously afraid, unable to see who is entering, but no doubt hearing them as more men enter the room in a hurry, noisily.

At least the soldiers the bastard villain hires are professionals. Only one or two of them look at Paige with brief glances, concentrating on the door they've entered from instead.

Wait.

No.

The way they shut the door quickly, how they hold their weapons pointing the barrels at the door. The tone of the brief code words they say to each other, and even the way they're holding the villain interrogator as far from the door as they can. My observation tells me I am wrong.

They're not being professional. They're fearful of something.

It's easy to deduce why.

They're under att…

… my Tinkertech prison clanks onto the floor by the time I notice. The soldiers are lying on the ground around me, stunned and groaning.

I look behind me, where I was flung from.

The wall where the table was beside is gone. An entire wall no longer there, except for small bits in the corners of the room, the edges of the exposed bricks there bleached white.

In its place, floating in the middle of the gap is a… statue.

That's my first impression.

It's a shapely feminine form described in pure white, a moving, floating Greek statue. It does not have a head, nor arms, and its thighs appear to be a single piece ending in a sharp point, lacking any feet.

It floats soundlessly into the room, its shoulders giving me an impression of it looking right and left. Four orbs of similar white float in behind it, large spheres making a halo around its missing head.

I know this.

It's a Process.

And Paige's tied down and helpless right in front of its sickly white glow.


	11. Fate() 11

**Fate()  
11.0**

The mercenaries recover quickly, despite being flung all over the room. And suddenly everything is sound.

Guns fire, the exploding gunpowder much louder than anything I've heard in movies.

The deafening echoes in the small confines exacerbate the loudness, until all that anyone can hear is throbbing meaningless pain.

A wall of bullets, enough to kill a man several times over fly towards the enemy at the edge of the room.

But the floating statue of a young lady's bust isn't there. It has disappeared from view, there one moment and not the next.

I find out where the Process is when the room pulses red from a direction I do not expect.

The orbs glow brightly, still floating above the Young Lady, a tint of red overpowering the white of their surface from within. Silently, bursts of red lash out again, drawing thin lines of laser-like effects in the air, stabbing into the ranks of soldiers struggling to react.

More bodies crumble. The men hit by the rays do not scream. They don't have the time to as they becoming statues themselves. The earlier victims crumble into white dust as the Young Lady sedately floats towards us.

If that attack hits Paige…

With the reminder, I jerk my attention back to my girl.

The low vantage point from where the Transistor now rests gives me a limited angle right in front of Paige's chair. The bottom of the seat fills my viewpoint, hiding most of her, allowing me to see only her limbs and her head.

And every bit of her I can see is pulling against her restrains. Her legs, her hands and the top of her head are straining, jerking against the interrogation chair, throwing herself against the metal frame with all of her strength and limited movement.

I can see her hands twisting in the line of manacles built into the armrest. Her head is turning into an unhealthy red, no doubt from pulling at the collar around her neck. Metal chains loosen and snap tight as she kicks out with her feet.

"Paige! Paige, stop!" I shout with concern. I reflectively try to talk to her down despite knowing she can't hear me, thinking she has finally lost the fight with her panic, "Panicking can't help! Calm…"

But her eyes tell me otherwise.

There's this intensity in her stare, a look she directs over the top of the chair seat's edge towards me.

It is not the eyes of the scared, nor that of the defeated.

A moment later, and I understand.

I'm in the Transistor.

She's looking at the Transistor.

The Transistor is right in front of her.

Her toes are only three, no, two inches away from its handle. If she can touch it…

But her feet might as well be on the other side of the county, for all the nonexistent progress she has done.

The chair remains bolted to the floor, not even swaying slightly as she struggles. The chain and buckles are too sturdy, arranged too well.

Still, she does not give up. Each time she throws herself at the buckles it probably hurts a lot, but she continues to try to get free, not caring for the pain.

I continue to look at Paige, silently encouraging, willing against reality for miracle.

Harsh red lines bisect the room a third time, but I give it no attention.

They can all go to hell for all I care. They put her here, in this spot.

But the Process in the room is a different matter. I turn towards the Young Lady. The unnaturally white torso is floating forward, too close for comfort.

Beyond it, behind it, some of the soldiers head towards the hole in the wall, the only exit out of the deathtrap. Whatever they want to do, to help or to run is interrupted. Familiar flashes of light brighten the room from outside. Shouts and screams of surprise are suddenly silenced.

A much harsher blast lights up the room. The orbs of the Young Lady fire again, the rays blasting right past my vision, filling in the thin gap between Paige and me, above and around us.

Four more soldiers die where they stand, cowering behind the only cover in the room. Paige.

The shots have been too close for comfort.

In my opinion, those bastards' choice of cover has been poor. They deserved their end.

But I realize too it is about to get worse for Paige; all the soldiers in the room are now dead, the last four only starting to crumble into dust.

All the immediate threats are gone.

The Process will now deal with what's left.

The Young Lady leans forward, the orbs hovering above the white torso also hovering above Paige's head.

"Damn you!" I hear, the spoken voice now audible without gunfire getting in the way.

The villain, the interrogator in the full body sock is in the corner of the room where he's been thrown. His left leg is obviously broken, judging by the unnatural bending of one knee.

Guns lay around him, but he does not pick them up and raise it against the Process, choosing to shout instead.

I tune him out as he adds expletive after expletive. Swaggering coward, that one, I've seen the type too often. They prey on the helpless, but when things get tough, they crumble into pathetic little men.

But that does not solve the problem Paige faces right now.

She's straining harder now, her movements desperate. The steadily deepening light of the orbs are diffused by the dust from the crumbling soldiers around her coloring the air itself in red.

Is this how it is going to end?

Captured by a mistake, chained like a dog by a coward?

Made vulnerable and weak, and helpless to prevent her death?

I… I don't want this. Paige McAbee… I… I'm…

Three clanks announce rifles falling onto the floor, released by hands turned into dust.

The fourth fall on the Transistor, onto its pommel guard. Both weapons separate from the impact. The gun clatters away from us, from Paige. The handle shifts in the other direction…

"Paige, now!" I shout reflectively, urgently, but she does not need any prompting.

She stomps down, her insole smashing painfully onto the handle of the Transistor…

… and twilight falls.

I look up. I feel a bit weak in my metaphorical knees.

She too slumps into her seat, her eyes a bit wild as she looks at the four lances of red hanging in the air, right above her head.

We stay like this for a while, in shock at how close things have been.

Long moments later I spot a small little trickle of blood. The skin of her ankle was torn and bleeding around the buckle, probably from straining too hard earlier.

The injury reminds me there's still quite a bit more to do before we're out of danger. Escape from the chair. Get out of this room. Find some clothing. Find out where we are.

But for now…

"Oh my god that is too damned close." I exclaim, knowing she can hear me now, mirroring her thoughts while hamming it up, "Any closer and your hair will be ruined! My most favorite hairstyle in the world, feathers and all, **RUINED**!"

She looks down at the Transistor, at me, a look of anger on her face. Her mouth opens as if to retort.

The expression turns to puzzlement, as the absurdity of what I said catches up.

And finally she laughs. Large peals of laughter fills in the twilight.

But soon, as I expected, it changes.

The laughter has been a crack in the dam. The horror, terror, pain and torment, the strain of the last few hours finally catches up to her.

Her emotions burst. She cries. She cries with wild abandon, the kind of sadness painful to even look at because it's all so real, so much, straight from the heart.

But for now, I stay by her as she continues to sob. "It's no hurry. Let it out. Let it all out."

She may still be naked, chained and is still very close to getting killed…

But we're safe now.

We have all the time in the world.

* * *

"Shall we?" I ask.

Paige smiles and nods, careful not to scratch her scalp onto the spikes of light still floating above her.

It's… not a nice smile; she's still chained to her chair, so her head's a mess, tears and snort fighting for space with an entire bushel of stray wild hair sticking where it shouldn't.

We'll fix that, once we get free.

The lines in the sand have already been plotted. All it takes is to trigger it.

The Tinker sword flares.

Perdition's effect on the Transistor proves its worth once again, as we appear outside the room. It pulls only what we want with us as we change locations in an instant, leaving the chair and all its restraints behind.

There are a few Processes beyond the hole, Jerks all, but we've accounted for this. Explosions rip through the corridor even before the Turn ends.

Another ability flare, this one powered by a soul in the Transistor called Bastion. A force-field rises around us, protecting us from any survivors. And more importantly it imposes a barrier between us and the Young Lady.

Temporarily safe, Paige leans down to grab the Transistor's handle.

She stumbles.

She's obviously still weak from the hours before.

"Hey!" a voice interrupts, "P…please! Help me!?"

We both look in the direction of the voice.

The interrogator is still where he is, in the corner of the room, with the Young Lady between him and freedom. As the Process floats slowly towards him, he raises one hand towards us in desperation, trying to appeal to us, "Please, that… that thing will kill me! Help me!"

The nerve of him.

Asking us to save him? After all that he had done?

"Paige, I know as well as you you're a bit weak right now," I snarl, "but that a bastard who needs killing. A single lance in his direction should be easy enough."

Then again, I know her. She's not likely to do that. She's likely to go in the other direction…

Paige smiles sadly as she looks at the snake themed villain.

"Oh… oh no you don't," I stuttered in shock, "That's a Villain. Capital V-i-l-l-i-a-n. You don't need to…"

She nods as she readies the Transistor on her shoulder.

"Paige…"

She abruptly turns and leaves, walking away.

"No!" the despairing wail echoes behind us, "No, you can't leave me! Come back! Co_~ *urgk*_"

"That's cruel, Paige, giving that bastard a little hope before the end."

She smiles again, a coy little thing.

"Good job."


	12. Fate() 12x

**Fate()  
12.x  
**  
_"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"_

_"We have, your honor."_

_I watched the representative of the jury like a hawk, focusing all of my attention onto him._

_"In the matter of the state of Massachusetts versus Paige Mcabee, as to the count of attempted murder, how do you find?"_

_"Not guilty, your honor."_

_'It's not over' I reminded myself. Willing the next words of the jury's spokesman with all my heart, I started whispering "Not guilty. Not guilty, not... guilty…"_

_"In the matter of the state of Massachusetts versus Paige Mcabee, as to the count of aggravated assault with a parahuman ability, how do you find?"_

_"Not guilty, your honor."_

_My hands tightened on each other. 'One more. Just one more… not...'_

_"In the matter of the state of Massachusetts versus Paige Mcabee, as to the count of sexual assault with a parahuman ability, how do you find?"_

_"Not guilty, your honor."_

_I opened the eyes I did not realize I've closed tightly, let out the breath I did not realize I was holding._

_It's a clean sweep!_

_A smile threatened to split my head in two as I cheered with joy. Only in the depths of my heart of course, seeing as I was in the middle of court deliberations._

_The people surrounding me was not as inhibited, as cheers and boos echoed through the courtroom to the sound of a hammer on gravel._

_"Is this your verdict?" The judge intoned after restoring order. He looked like he had swallowed a bitter lemon, the expression clear from even where I sat._

_"Yes, your honor."_

_"Paige Mcabee, please direct your attention to me," the judge spoke. He hid it well, but years of experience with people allowed me to hear the bitterness in his voice._

_I relaxed, not hearing the rest of the ritual, the stress of waiting for the verdict having worn me out._

_That old bigot had been the most hostile judge I had seen in years, favoring the prosecution to absurd degrees even as he coached his reasons in reasonable sounding babble._

_I have no doubt that, if just one of the charges had been guilty, the judge would still have declared the harshest sentence he had in his power to give. Knowing his type, he would even pile beatific-sounding justification upon a festering pile of reasonable sounding bullshit before throwing her to the wolves._

_'Sufficient cause' my ass. Stop making that 'mostly in your favour' excuse, damnable racist… parahumanist… whatever. His actions had spoken far louder than words; don't think I didn't notice the poisoning of the jury with words like "heinous" and "criminality" again and again, senile old…_

_Ahem._

_It was lucky for Paige the defense was who he was, an attorney carefully selected for this case. Anyone less experienced would have been cowed, and if that happened it would have cost Paige the entire case… speaking of which…_

_All in the courtroom had stood up as the judge exited hastily, and to my delight with a slouch, imagining a thundercloud right above his bowed head._

_Well, all stood except for Paige. The defense lawyer stood beside her, beckoning hastily, hurrying a court official holding a large ring of keys and devices for her restraints._

_I stayed seated too, a petty defiance I allowed myself, hidden as I was in the crowd. That old fool had almost justified heaping a mountain of restrains on…_

_Calm. This was unlike me. Unprofessional, even._

_Freed from the handcuffs and the voice restriction neck cuff, Paige stood up as the officer worked on her ankle restraints. She was looking backwards into the crowd, already in the slow process of leaving the courtroom._

_I stood up myself, correcting my earlier mistake._

_And on spotting me, she gave me a smile. It was not a coy smile, nor a sensual one, nor any of her other professional 'faces' she has as a singer._

_It was an unabashed, uninhibited smile of gratitude, an expression no doubt capable of melting through the most hardened of hearts._

_I basked in her radiance._

* * *

"So," she said, interrupting his thoughts.

The man opened his eyes into the dim light and looked to the side.

She was looking up and sideways at him again, a sly smile almost hidden from his view by the way she sloped her head towards him, knowing how alluring the mysterious smile was to her partner.

"So?" the man repeated, smiling as leaning back into the sofa, radiating arrogant confidence and unflappability instead of what he truly felt.

"So," she said again as she leaned comfortably into the shoulder of the man, nuzzling against him.

It was a joke between them.

He decided to stop it right there before they ended up saying 'so' fifty or so times. Again. Pulling her to him with the left arm over her shoulder, he pressed her right in the nose with his right index finger. "Boop!"

"Hey!" she grabbed at his already retreating index finger and missed, as her soft, rich giggle echoed off the walls.

"Not doing that again today," he countered in mock surrender. Instead, he leaned his shoulder against her, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

"So..."

An annoyed look was swiftly suppressed, gone before she could notice.

"It's been a week, hasn't it?"

"Two," he half sighed, half answered.

She caught the tone of his voice, separating their embrace to look at him face to face with mock indignity … right before she stuck out her tongue at him.

A short bark of shared laughter later, she closed her eyes and leaned back into the man's embrace. .

"How close was it?"

The voice was no longer playful, the inflection full of worry.

"A sure win," he lied cheerfully. "Truly, my girl, your beauty won the jury for…"

She gave him a playful punch to his hip for bringing up that _really irritating persona_ again.

'Oh no you didn't.' he tickled her in her waist in retaliation.

Giggling uncontrollably, she leaned away and slapped him with a pillow.

There was a short playful tussle for the pillow before, unbalanced by a pounce, they both tipped over with a yelp onto the unused rest of the large sofa's seat. They rested there for a bit, deep in each other's embrace, a bit of laughter cheer the air.

It didn't last.

A moment later, the man pushed himself up to look at her, only to find her eyes large and vulnerable, beautiful teary orbs looking straight back at him.

"I had the nightmare again."

"I guessed."

She had told him she had it about once every few days for the past two weeks. He guessed there had been more.

"What if…"

"It didn't happen."

"Yes, but if…" she left the rest unsaid. What if I am found guilty? What would have happened?

What if the court of public opinion decided otherwise?

What could anyone say to that? The man didn't. Instead, he sighed as he lifted himself off her, sitting up. He stared into the soft glow of electric fireplace, deep in thought.

A moment later, the view was obscured; she had sat up too, looking in the other direction, at him. Worry was clearly written on her face.

"I… I'm…"

"Don't." He interrupted her. "I…" He sighed again before he continued, "… don't be sorry for asking. But please, dear, don't get tied down by the past too."

"… I hurt him."

There was no need to ask who 'him' was.

"Yes, you did. But my girl, he's not as damaged as you believe," he paused right there, the orator in him taking over, "it's the prosecution's job to make you look worse than you are."

A little white lie.

"Plus, he's a bastard anyways."

A little truth.

She still looked a little unsure, but something in her posture convinced him the matter was settled for now.

"So," he said, leaning forward, "seeing as how I'm the shining knight who rode in, slayed the dragon, rescued the princess and saved the day, how about a little classic reward?"

"Get over yourself!" She playfully bopped him on the head with the pillow again as he half-heartedly fended her off.

She was about to do so again, her hand above and behind her when she suddenly gasped. Her expression turned uncertain as she looked beyond him.

The man turned around.

The electric fireplace was the only light in the room, and it was set for dim ambiance rather than light. The yellow glow was barely able to pierce the gloom, showing only the generalities of the walls on the far end of the room, and the smartly dressed group mostly hidden there.

"What?" the man exclaimed, "You're… What are you… Get out now, or I'll call the cops."

It was false bravado, and he knew it.

Their clothing was distinctive and smart, archaic even, certain patters repeated throughout the group. And none of their faces could be seen, concealed with masks and ornaments.

While he did not know who they were, their manner of dress made it easy to understand what they were.

Capes.

The likelihood of the couple walking away unharmed depended entirely on their house-crashing guest's whims.

A man wearing a business suit and a silver mask stepped forward. In a clipped voice full of business, he intoned, "Paige McAbee?"

"Yes?" she replied automatically, frazzled by the situation. She stammered her next words as if she just remembered to retort, "You heard him. G… get out."

"I understand," the man in the silver mask spoke deeply again, turning to look behind him as he did so. The rest of the intruders looked at each other. One of them, a smartly dressed woman standing to one side nodded.

"We want your assistance," the cape who had stepped forward turned back to the couple, "It will save the world."

"No. I don't believe you. You're not heroes. If you are, you would have knocked." the addressed girl replied, and he could hear iron in those words, "Get Out."

There was a ripple in their ranks. One of their number took a step towards the door before he hesitated.

"Get. Out."

There was another ripple. The pull of her power thrummed in the air.

The group behind the man in the silver mask started to shuffle towards the room's exit, looking like reluctant school kids headed towards a test.

The man looked back at her. She was looking back at him.

There was sadness in her expression.

It was understandable to them both. Using her powers… it probably reopened not-so-old wounds, reminded her of the recent trial...

… but it was still their best bet at getting out of this alive.

He nodded encouragingly in response.

Her eyes suddenly snapped towards something behind him. Her expression changed to one of shock. She leaned back, her mouth open, as if to scream.

He turned.

He saw.

The silver mask was dipped, the face behind it bowing his head, "I'm sorry."

From behind him, one of his capes had remained, dressed in a long flowing evening gown, yellow in the dim light.

The gemstones glittered off the jewels in her mask as she let go, having swung a slab of black and red towards the couple.

The elongated block flared brightly as it was thrown, covered the short distance almost too quick for the eye to see.

Green lines and highlights along its length appeared, an overpowering bright brilliance.

She screamed then, belatedly moving to dive out of the way of the weapon's lethal path.

It would be too little, too late.

And it would not matter one bit.

Because the man, he had not hesitated.

There was no time other than to react, as he dived into the tinker device's path.

The blade of the Transistor plunged into his chest, to the sounds of a high pitched scream.

The penthouse apartment exploded in a harsh display of sound and light…

* * *

_Accord woke up._

_It was a bad dream._

_He was in his office, a place he was staying in much too often lately._

_The clock at the halfway point of the room continued its steady march into the future, ticking as it did so. The hands on the face of the timekeeper pointed left and right, declaring the time late in the afternoon._

_That was, perhaps, the only orderly thing left in this previously pristine place._

_Including its owner._

_It was a nightmare._

_The silver mask laid on the table, placed there right beside an unorderly pile of paper, the mask itself having knocked the utensils and writing instruments of the desk out of order._

_Accord took a look at the problems he could not solve._

_Finance reports._

_Research reports._

_Situation reports._

_The last few communicates from his branches._

_More situation reports._

_A single letter, from the organization of the now deceased Coil, opened._

_The local and international news, as distilled by his departed secretary._

_Casualty reports._

_And an unopened letter, with a single stylized Greek "U"._

_It was a nightmare which has followed him, ever since that day._

_He stood up, unsteadily, shaking the cobwebs of sleep away as he stretched. He took a well-practiced step to the side, turned, took three more steps._

_He stood behind the wall-high window of his office. The skyline of the heart of Boston laid before him._

_He took a quiet, long look beyond._

_He remembered that man. Again._

_He could solve all the problems. End world hunger. He could devise the fall or rise of entire nations with nothing but horse shoes and other simple commodities._

_But he could not solve a single person._

_And a single person was all it took._

_With sudden fury, Accord slammed a fist into the glass. He yelled, but the loud snarl of rage was not because of the pain in his arm._

_He closed his eyes, and opened them again._

_The buildings of Boston continued to mock him._

_It was a nightmare come to claim him, torment him._

_It was a nightmare he could not wake up from, because he was already awake._

_And he couldn't solve this, the solution out of his gasp._

_The former warlord of Boston walked away from the window, leaving behind a cobweb of cracks and a bit of his skin on the window pane._

_Behind him, the skyscrapers of Boston continued to collapse, the majority of the remaining towering structures bleached white._


	13. Order() 13

**Order()  
13.0  
**  
With the third round of knocking, the flap on the door slides opens. A gruff voice comes from within.

"Who is there?"

We recognize him immediately, despite the small view slit.

Gregor has a very unique skin tone, after all.

My girl opens her mouth to reply to the challenge…

…and nothing comes out.

"Well?" Gregor's grumpy.

"Girl, you will have to talk someday," I encourage her, "That might as well be today."

But not one squeak makes it out of her mouth.

There was some unintelligible grumbling from mister Grumpy as the small hole on the door slides close.

"Right. Excuse me, Mister Gregor," I say out loud, "Remember me? I'm Paige. You know, famous singer, celebrity, dazzlingly beautiful and all?"

While I can't see Paige's face from here, I hope she's smiling within the hood of the raincoat we've 'picked up' along the way here… a bulb lights up in my thoughts.

"Oh, and would you like to buy some Flowers? Maybe some of my matchsticks too? Perhaps you would like to see my Grandma? She is pretty furry and spots a vulpine grin with some enormously large teeth…"

My girl's right hand emerges from the folds in front of the raincoat, unsuccessfully trying to cover her mirth as she chuckles.

"Let's let down the hood and try again, shall we?"

She nods as she follows my instructions. As she takes the knocker of the door and tries again, another thought comes to me.

It's good to hear her laughing again.

* * *

Paige's second attempt to enter the Palanquin is much more successful than her first.

Gregor barely takes a glance at us before we hear the sound of latches and locks shifting behind the door.

The moment the portal opens, a greyish hand reaches out and urgently beckons us inside. As we enters, we spot Gregor extend a head out of the doorway, looking right and left before he slams the door shut.

A little later, here we are.

I am… I guess both 'lie' and 'sit' are odd choice of words for my situation.

The blunt green blade of the Tinker sword lies on the seat of the stool, its handle resting on Paige's legs as she sits 'beside' me.

Her right hand holds onto the device warily.

In front of us on the other side of the low table, two ladies sits on the cushioned stools facing us, looking at us curiously.

I confess I don't know much about Faultline's crew. But the one in the middle all dressed in black is wears a gas mask of sorts. Her eyes look at us through the large lens with intensity, her mannerism analytical, her posture stern, all business.

That must be Faultline herself. Gregor's mercenary boss.

"Would you, maybe, like a drink?"

Gregor stands to the right, holding out a tray. Several cups of plain water rest on it.

Paige nods and smiles, accepting a cup with her left hand. But instead of drinking, she puts the cup on the table.

We've been out of the Villain's underground base for hours, and had not eaten or drank all this time. She must be thirsty.

Paige's really not taking any chances right now.

Gregor makes his way around and places the tray, cups and all, onto the table. He sits down to the side just in time to hear his leader's starting words.

"Paige McAbee?"

My girl nods.

"And that means that must be the Transistor."

Paige's posture straightens. Her grip on the handle tightens.

There's a tense silence between us.

"So," Faultline leans forward, resting her elbow onto the table as she steeples her fingers in front of her, "What possesses a girl with a bounty on her head to enter the lair of a Mercenary group all by herself?"

Paige opens her mouth to reply.

Silence comes out of it.

She closes her mouth, and with her left hand gestures at her throat before turning her hand to and fro.

"Guess the rumours are true then." Faultline says as she leans back, "Pity. I don't quite like your songs, unlike a big oaf I know, but I've found them quite catchy," her head tilts a bit to her left, "but I think you know that."

Gregor seem to look a bit abashed as he shifts in his seat, not making anyone's eye contact.

Ten to one Faultline's smiling under that gasmask.

"Sham?"

The redhead sitting beside Faultline digs up a slab of something from behind her. Placing it on the table, she taps a corner of the flat square before she pushes, sliding the lit electronic device on the smooth surface of the table towards us.

Paige looks up towards the trio opposite the table, her expression puzzled.

"It's tinker tech," Sham explains, "Just write what you want to say."

Paige hesitantly accepts the device and begins to fiddle with its lighted surface, lines appearing where her index finger traces.

The lines begin to form… what might be a word, if you squint. And guess. And even then I might be wrong.

_"Unrecognized Word." _

Seems the tinker device agrees with me.

Frowning, my girl tries again.

_"Unrecognized Word."_

And mangles another word.

Before she tries a third time, I speak up, having realized what's going on. "Paige, use both your hands."

My girl paused, pondering. A frown forms on her face.

"Don't worry. I'm here. I'll keep watch," I remind her, "You can still call the Turn as long as the sword is touching you anywhere."

With movements that broadcast her obvious reluctance, Paige releases her deathgrip on the Transistor's handle, carefully resting it on her thighs.

Holding the Tinkertech wordpad with her left hand, she begins to draw a word with her right.

In the dim light of the handwriting to speech device, she looks up at Faultline.

A single electronic word fills the air.

"Accord."


	14. Order() 14

**Order()  
14.0  
**  
"Alright, so there I was, facing down an angry cape," I recount, "and there's nothing in between him and me spending several months in traction, if that. So I figured, why not? I stood my ground and faced him down with a calm look, raised the teacup I had rescued from the broken table and said, 'Cheers, Mate' in the fakest Australian accent I can remember.

"And somehow that worked. He calmed down with a bewildered look I can remember even today, we sat down and continued like civilized men, items got themselves hashed out and eventually he gets to continue to live. All's well that ends well…"

… 'in the birdcage.' I fail to mention.

"And that's when I learned the biggest lesson in the biz. A calm, unflappable image is everything. Sure, a rep is worth its weight in gold, but making and staying in a persona of confidence, an aura of knowing exactly what to do at all time, that is worlds better."

My story finished, I look around.

The only sounds in the air are the guitar riff from the cheap speakers, the steady drone of the engine, and the unique doppler-affected sound of passing cars.

And of my audience of two, Paige's sleeping, and Gregor can't hear me from where he is in the driver's seat.

I sigh.

The Tinker-prison cabin fever must be getting to me.

Or maybe it's the sudden "_He__**YEAH**__!_" of a new song interrupting my thoughts.

A song I am hearing for the eighth time today.

Will it kill someone to change the CD?! While the choice of music is excellent, putting Bad Canary's Greatest Hits on loop for the last five hours is just overdoing it!

Then again, Paige's sleeping. And Gregor can't hear me.

Even if he can, I'll lay 50-50 odds of him refusing, or the car's CD collection having only more of the same.

To hear Paige explain it, he's just a fan.

To hear Faultline agreeing with my girl, he's more than that. A lot more.

The shell-decorated Case-53 denies it of course. He cites the fact he can't go into public, given his non-human appearance.

I've met better liars.

Then again, I'm still a bit skeptical myself; Gregor's doesn't look like the type, and is probably the last person I will peg as a fan of Paige's Jazz-Pop hybrid songs.

But the evidence against Gregor is substantial, if refutable.

Evidence the first, the rest of Gregor's crew, speaking over his constant protests, clearly enjoying the discomfort of their snail-motifed parahuman team member.

The image that the testimony builds in my mind is amusing; an obviously overweight person with every inch of him wrapped up in concealing clothing, standing right at the front of a sweltering, packed concert while holding up large flag printed with the words "BIGGEST FAN!", screaming himself hoarse while jumping and waving about or whatever it is kids do in Paige's pop concerts…

There might be some exaggeration involved. Still… heh.

Evidence the next, the song on the radio changes again, another of Paige's Greatest Hits plays for the eighth time.

And to add one more, there's the simple fact he's here.

Driving a car may not seem like much, even if the car itself looks like a cheap rust bucket recently refloated from Japan's sunken factories.

Driving a car into Boston on the other hand…

Me and my girl, we had been cut off from the news, not entirely through fault of our own. Last night we rectified that, amongst other things.

Boston's an official S-class disaster zone. Some news agencies are starting to parrot the term "Class-SS".

I don't disagree; from the news, the Processes might have actually outmatched the Endbringers in sheer destructive ability, even after dismissing half of the articles for the scaremongering sensationalist moneymakers they are.

There are horror stories of a city being demolished piecemeal, of rushed evacuations and the stampede that resulted, of the war that has suddenly erupted right in the heart of the United States.

Of a death toll in the millions.

As with any other S-class threats, the overwhelmed Protectorate had issued a call to arms. Villains and Heroes gathered, a united front of humanity's best to reclaim Boston from the Processes.

In a single day and night of fighting, they lost badly to an enemy outnumbering them at least twenty to one, about three out of every five participating parahumans dead or disabled.

So, yeah. Driving towards the Boston quarantine zone is, in Faultline's words, "Are you fucking stupid?!"

But Gregor's still here, going into hell's den.

Of course, nowhere around Boston is safe anymore; there are reports of roving Processes beyond its borders. Me and my girl have firsthand evidence of that happening; we've seen the Processes for ourselves in Brockton Bay. Montreal, Ottawa, New York has been hit too, the Processes repelled to varying degrees of success by their local capes.

Some rumors claim they have made it as far as Philadelphia and Toronto.

The Processes are spreading. If they remain unchecked…

Still, despite all that has happened, nobody really knows what the Processes are.

Various theories have been bandied about, from powers run amok to a new villain in town; the current leading theory saying they're out of control automated self-replicating tinkertech of some kind.

We know a bit more than that.

The Transistor is tied to Process in some way. The green and red Tinker broadsword seems to attract them to it somehow, not to mention how easily the device wrecks any Process with only a few attacks, a group all having Brute 5 at the very least.

There's also the way the blade seem to suck in the bits of any destroyed Processes in its vicinity.

But while we know there's a connection, we just don't know exactly how they're tied together.

But now, now we have a name.

Accord. A villain in Boston.

And that's why we're heading **in**to a S-class quarantine zone.

He's in Boston. Maybe.

He knows. Maybe.

And he's willing to help us stop the Process from overrunning the world.

Maybe.

That's a lot of maybes. I am nowhere near being that much of a betting man.

And of course those are _Paige_'s objectives. I am nowhere near being that altruistic.

I've recognized Accord's face the moment I saw the picture of his masked face in the PHO wiki.

It's the guy in the dark that day. The one who locked me in this prison, caused Paige to lose her voice, and set us both on the road, on the run.

He started this.

And he's going to fix this, one way or the other.

And after that, he's going to suffer, one way or the other.

And that's why **I** am going to Boston, whatever anyone else's objectives might be.

Speaking of which…

"Oh, Gregor," I say out loud, even if he can't hear me, "Stay away from my girl, you fat piece of lard. She's spoken for, you hear. If I see you make moves on her, I'll…"

_Tap tap tap_

Oh.

Paige's awake, with a sleepy, almost resigned look on her face. And with the knuckles of her left fist she's tapping away at the big crystal circle insert in the middle of its blade.

"Oh, ah, aww, please stop that, it tickles," I exclaim in sync with the sound of the soft taps almost buried within the music.

It's only play-acting, my small exclamations only really for show; being a bodiless consciousness floating inside the Tinker device, I don't really feel anything physical inside of this prison.

At least there's a smile on her face.

"You're awake?" Gregor says from his driver's seat. He probably saw my girl's nod in the rear view mirror, because he continues, "It is good time, we are almost there. About fifteen minutes?"

Paige nods again, as she looks at the Transistor with a small, sad smile. At me.

"Right. Shall we?" I say, "Oh, and can you please tell that fan of yours to stop replaying those songs?"

She nods, but does not speak.

Right.

A yet-again repeated song about love and destiny starts to play as we drive towards the gleaming skyline of white.


	15. Order() 15

**Order()  
15.0  
**  
We watch as the car pulls away, making a U-turn.

Too slowly.

On my insistence, Paige raises and pushes the back of her hand away from her, a shoo'ing motion she aims at the vehicle.

The vehicle stops. A gray hand extends out of the open window, giving us a hesitant, apologic wave.

My girl's hand rises again, waving back.

And then he is going, the rustbucket puttering along as it moves down the road. It struggles, spewing clouds of thick smoke out of its tailpipe, as it goes up a distant rise in the road… and he's gone.

He had really wanted to help.

As much as I think Paige needs the company and help, I can't really blame him.

Our first fight with the Process convinced him otherwise.

* * *

It was barely a skirmish, a group of one Jerk and four floating things. They were flying balls each surrounded by a floating halo, a crude imitation of Saturn and its ring.

While Gregor covered the Jerk in sticky slime and acid, we went after its flying wingmen.

It took some time to wreck them; they're just as weak as a Creep, but they were fast, and played keep away. They could also attack from range using orbs of energy; the sparks of bright light as the Processes fired almost felt like the snapshots of a camera flash.

I could see it causing trouble. The victims blinded by the flashes would have trouble avoiding the path of the slow but powerful shots released the orbs in their direction.

But a former celebrity who's used to a wall of camera flashes going off in her face?

Not quite as effective.

But as I said earlier, it took some time before a blast wave from the Transistor cleaved the last Snapshot in two.

Paige turned around…

… to see Gregor still occupied by the Jerk.

The parahuman was covering it continuously with the secretion of his powers, reapplying a layer of corrosive sticky foam onto it.

It broke free time and time again.

Gregor's face scrunched with effort. He was straining, hard.

He didn't even seem to have scratched the Jerk's paint.

He was tiring.

With a triumphant roar, the gigantic Process broke free of the sticky wall yet again. Pounding onto the ground as he advanced, the gigantic Process charged towards Gregor.

The mercenary suicidally stood his ground as he continued to use his powers, trying to stop the rapid approach of the Process.

It was not hard to see why; he was favoring his left leg, the bottom of his pants' right leg torn and bleeding.

That was when we finished the snapshots, when we intervened. The twilight of the Turn descended as Paige rushed to the mercenary's rescue…

* * *

Yeah.

The Processes are just too strong for him. It's best that he left.

I'm pretty sure I reached that conclusion without certain… personal reasons getting in the way.

"So," I say out as Paige continues to look at the distant rise, where Gregor's car had disappeared behind, "Shall we go? It's almost evening, I don't want you to spend any time sleeping without a roof if I can"

Paige nodded as she adjusts the strap of her backpack, settling it around the sleeve of her new overcoat as we turn around. Together, we re-enter the outskirts of...

A shadow briefly covered us, something beyond huge passing through the sky above us.

The crystal insert of the Transistor _flared, a bright ruby red coloring our surroundings._

And…

_**PAIN.**_

_A headache from hell hit me._

_PAIN hits me like, like, like a truck. Harsh, my first feeling since…_

_… can't think properly…_

_Paige… can you hear me. I, there's this darkness. Can't see… everything is dark, and the_

_PAIN._

_This is… I… muddled, almost, like, I'm drunk… can't do much of, wha's that, word… can't even remember… words…_

_I… I'm at the end of the… are you fighting Paige?_

_I can… sword drawing my soul… it's numb…_

_… I feel drunk? can't be._

_And the_

_**pain**._

_are you fighting?_

_I… can't._

_hold on. I…_

_… its too much…_

_Help._

_help me._

_someone._

_i can't take any…_

_The headache, it…_

_Another… drawn, she's…_

_my girl, fighting… again._

_… no, no. no. not, liabi…lity._

_Can't be… a liabi… can't be, weak,_

_ness._

_i think… hang on, i, i, i…_

_i…_

_**nnnngh…** i…_

_… i can… can't…_

_… hang on. hang on._

_…don't, rush._

_don't…_

_mistakes, when you…_

_rush…_

_i've feeeelt worse._

_I think I_

_**CAN**…_

_i caaaa…n. can. I can… hang…_

_on…_

_…don't be rash… I can…_

_THE_

_PAIN…_

_i…_

_uggggh…_

_it hurts…_

_. ..._

_Paige…_

_. ..._

_can…_

_I…_

_?_

* * *

I…

... .

Where am I?

Paige's lying on the ground beside me, her overcoat covering her and the slab blade of the Tinker sword as she sleeps.

It makes a poor blanket.

That is a _LOT_ of holes.

Wait, what? That was a new jacket, what… what happened?

I look around.

We're… in the sky.

We **are** in the sky, for a given value of 'sky'; we're on the penultimate floor of a skyscraper.

And it looks like utter disaster has visited this place. Most of the walls of the floor have been blown apart, ruin and bricks lies all around us.

And… _WOAH_.

I come face to face with the biggest Process I've ever seen.

A huge lipless mouth faces me, the teeth lay uncovered. Each of the spikes is almost as big as Paige herself. And it has a whole mouthful of that, filled to the brim.

I shudder to think of its victims, what horror they might feel if they see that coming.

And beside it, there's a pillar.

No, not a pillar. A tail. A Spine. A spike of black and white, the tail of the giant Process.

And that monster with an oversized Spine, it's not moving. Nothing on the roof is.

The eyes of the Spine are dead. There's no sparkle, no glow. Nothing like the rest of the Processes we've met.

But there's a… feeling instead.

I can feel it, even now, coming from the Spine. It is a nagging… pain? The Spine is transmitting pain somehow, into the Transistor, onto me.

It's my first feeling of any kind since I became part of the Transistor.

And, is that blood?

No, it isn't. It's a trail of crystals.

One end ends in the mouth of the gigantic Process, and the other…

… the other ends at Paige's feet, a red powder sticking to her boots. And I realize, to her clothes and herself too.

Shit.

Did Paige…

… Wow girl, you're amazing, you know that? If what I think you did is true, of course. But I don't doubt that.

That explains why she's sleeping. She must be exhausted.

I look away. As amazing as the fact I can feel anything at all since so long ago, Pain's pain, and it is getting to me.

In the other direction, there's a white horizon, and the setting sun.

Seems most of Boston has been processed by the Process.

It is beautiful, the red of the sunlight and the slight, white glow of the remade city. The interaction in contrast, the hues of both colors in the dying light.

I continue to watch the sunset.

Paige continues to sleep.

I continue to watch.

As the sun sets.

As twilight falls.


	16. Order() 16

**Order()  
16.0  
**  
She remains asleep for a good, long while.

She's not in the here and now.

Not scarred by the past.

Not anxious about the future.

Her face is relaxed, as she lies there, peaceful and untroubled.

But strangely, a feeling in my gut tells me: That's not her. That's only her body, her features.

But that's not her.

She's defined by her struggles, her actions, her motives.

Her life.

Without that… she's not her. If you get what I mean.

I suddenly had the urge to tap her right on her nose. To talk with her again, to see her smile. To be with her as she is.

Not for the first time, I hate the current situation.

But perhaps it's for the best that I can't act.

She deserves any rest comes her way.

I remain quiet, staying on guard by her side.

* * *

There is little warning.

Paige barely stirs, before she jerks awake.

For a short moment, she looks around, shock and panic openly showing on her face, with a hint of confusion.

It's probably a nightmare. Again.

"Sweet dreams?" I enquire ironically, hoping to coax details out of her.

She calms down, sighing, before she turns to look at the Transistor. I know from the past; I'm not going to get anything.

"Welcome back." I say. I can't resist adding the next word, "Sleepyhead."

Her reaction's not what I expect. She startles, stares at my prison, wide-eyed shock back on her face.

"What?"

Swiftly, hurriedly, she scoops up my Tinkertech prison from the ground. Holding it close to the chest, with her arms wrapped around the blade, she hugs it tightly.

It's probably quite uncomfortable, the hard sharply angled edges of the blunt instrument jutting into her forearms.

She doesn't care.

Tears roll down her face, as her body shudders. She tightens her grip, as she shrinks into herself, wrapping herself around the green broadsword…

Is she?

She probably is.

I guess it's the closest equivalent to what she wants to do the most, right now.

"Hey," I comfort her to the sound of silent sobbing, "I'm back. I'm ok now."

"Whatever you did? Thanks. You helped me."

She nods. There's a little sound with the movement. An almost inaudible hum, halfway between a whine and a squeak.

An apology and an acknowledgement combined.

"Crybaby," I tease, but my tone contains hints of unbridled happiness. Why shouldn't I?

That's the first sound she's made, by herself, in months.

We allow a little time to ourselves, kneeling in the ceiling of a ruined skyscraper, in the middle of the night.

* * *

She slaps the dust and dead monster crystals out of the dress. That done, she looks down at herself, a slight pout forming on her face.

"Well, that's just sad," I speak her thoughts, "Another dress, ruined. We're going to break the clothing budget at this rate."

She laughs at my statement. But unlike what comes before, this laugh comes with sound, a soft chuckle.

It's the most heavenly thing I've heard recently.

Unfortunately...

"Shall we? We have an appointment to meet."

And that smile's gone.

Can't blame her. Can't say I'm looking forward to meeting Accord myself.

My girl's only other time meeting the Villain didn't end well for everyone involved.

She's sure he's in this building. Something about notes he's been leaving behind. There's only one floor left, above us. It's only one flight of stairs.

It feels like a mountain.

But we climb it anyways.

If slowly; it doesn't hurt to be cautious, after all we've been through.

* * *

Penthouse's divided into two, according to information from the Palanquin.

It's mostly correct, but needs updating.

The waiting area's exactly as she described. Barebones, neat, impersonal, the only furniture's the secretary's desk.

Minus the secretary, of course.

Minus most of the separating wall too.

We cautiously look in Accord's office and spot them immediately. A man and a woman. The man is neatly arranged in the middle of the room, the woman a crumple of limbs between him and us.

Paige approaches them carefully, but I can already guess what happened, by the dark brown puddle of dried liquid.

I recognize Accord from his mask, even from a distance. He's also still wearing the same suit from when we first met.

I next recognize the lady as we get closer. She is also dressed in the very same yellow evening gown as the one she wore that fateful night. Her jeweled mask is removed and lying beside her, revealing a face which would have been beautiful.

A gun remains where it has fallen near her hand, by her head.

It has probably been used twice.

The results aren't pretty.

Paige leans down and closes the eyes of the dead with her left hand.

* * *

"… I am a great believer in order, in the peace I can and have planned for humanity's future. My goals, if it has been brought to exacting fulfillment, will have allowed mankind time.

Time that will allow us to survive this cruel world filled with monsters of unfathomable powers. Time to allow us to consolidate the powers that be, whether it be money, power, status or nations, under those who deserve to rule. Time to found a singular framework, designed by myself and worthy others, that will find not squabble in differences, brook no imbalance in class and status. , prevent any degradation of society caused by the lesser of us.

With me leading the way, we can find the time to find a solution to society itself, to save us from ourselves, to reach for the stars as is our want, need and destiny.

The perfection of man through his works, through my hand it will be a glorious futu

While my plans are obviously perfect, I guess my methods contain the same flaws imposed on all of humanity after all. What I dreamed of is now ruined, in my lifetime and everyone else's. It is with my deepest regret that I have failed in this great undertaking, and have doomed us all in the process.

I am sorry. Deeply sorry. But if apologies can

I shall remain where my organization is based, in the penthouse of Boston Central Plaza Towers, and remain here I will, forever. Such is my punishment that I inflict on myself for my failure. Do not come for me. These little white bastards will do your job for you soon enough.

It is only a pity they cannot do more.

I have forwarded copies of this letter to what remain of Boston's Protectorate, as well as Protectorate branches of the neighboring states.

I hope enough of my runners will live to accomplish my task.

\- A"

Why, the towering _ARROGANCE_ of that… that…

My mind refuses to remember a word suitable enough to describe the deceased villain, which is rare for a person of my profession.

Or perhaps there is _NO_ words to describe that pompous, self-righteous, defiant to the end…

… again, I cannot think of a word suitable enough.

Paige puts the note we've been reading down onto the table she's sitting on. The same table we've found the note from, surrounded by piles of reports.

We've read them all. There's nothing in the pile of information we did not already know for ourselves.

And the man himself, Accord, the man we're searching for, is peacefully lying in death.

There's nothing here.

We've come to Boston for nothing.

My girl risked everything, but for nothing.

If I have my body, I'll probably walk over to kick Accord's face in, dance on his body, disturb his undeserved peace. It will do nothing to fix things, but at least I'll have my spiteful satisfaction.

"Well," I sigh, "coming here's a waste of time."

Paige shakes her head, frowning. She continues to look at the center of the room as she spots something. I direct my attention there too.

There's a flicker in the air above Accord's corpse, a projection of what looks like a hologram of boxes floating in the middle of the room.

Paige brings her left hand towards the Transistor as she lets herself off the table, gripping the handle of her only weapon with both hands. She lets the blade of the heavy weapon drag on the ground as she takes a step forward.

"Careful," I warn, "It might be a new type of Process."

But even as I say this, there's a feeling that I'm wrong.

Paige takes another two steps, before both of us realize a new fact.

The Transistor's flaring.

The crystal circle embedded into its core twinkles unnaturally as it gets closer to the ghostly containers, the traces of circuitry along its outline condensing into bright green lines.

And there's… a tug. Not a physical one, it is a pull in my mind instead.

And suddenly, I know.

The Transistor is a Tinker Prison for the bodiless essence of people. For _SOULs_, if I've not missed my mark.

But if the Tinker Prison can collect souls, essence or whatever it is I am, take a guess how it collects its prisoners?

"Heya, Accord," I deadpan, "care to join us? It's quite nice in here. You're probably the person who deserves to spend eternity in here after all, and while you're at it you might even be able to reverse your mistake."

Paige blinks in comprehension. Lifting the Transistor blade forward before her, she approaches the lazily spinning icon of a former life.

"Bring him in, Paige." I say. "If this works, he might be able to talk to us even after death."

Paige takes one last step forward.

The Transistor flashes, a bright burst of red and green. And I feel… a small something. A nagging itch almost too insignificant to notice, a feeling of a slight breeze where there shouldn't.

I stretch out my perception inwardly… and there's a new entry. Accord, aka Grant Kendrell. There are large gaps in his description, large unreadable sections in his memory, but he's here.

"Got him," I say, "It'll take some time Paige, but we'll know what he knows soon enou… what's wrong?"

My girl's on alert, wielding the Tinker broadsword before her defensively. Her eyes are darting to and fro searching for threats, but they are mainly looking towards the front.

And she's looking at a tear in the air.

The shimmering effect in the air is similar to a borderless mirror hanging in the air, a completely different scene from its surroundings.

What should be a broken wall in an office in Boston is now a view of an unnaturally long clinically white tiled corridor, with doorways branching off every few tens of meters.

And in the center of this cut in reality, a smartly dressed woman in a suit stands confidently on the other side, her right hand beckoning us to come to her.


	17. Victory() 17

**Victory()  
17.0  
**  
Without any preamble, the lady in the reality tearing doorway starts to talk, "Paige Mcabee, and company. You want to know about the Processes?"

That's a weirdly abrupt way to start a conversation. Why…

"If you wish to stop the Processes, please follow me. We don't have much time," the suited and fedora wearing woman interrupts, "The Processes are right now beginning to overrun New York. Even with Legend's team in attendance, it'll fall about a fortnight later."

Well, that's worrying news, but we hesitate.

I don't know what Paige's reasons to not trust this strange woman are, but I can guess.

And more importantly I know what's she's after by blurting out that bit of information without any prompting.

Easiest negotiation technique out there, anywhere: Get the other guy to want to hurry.

If he wants to rush, end things early, he will make mistakes, he will give more concessions, he will allow things to go slightly less in his favour.

Not to mention there's something about her, something familiar… with a start I realise what it is.

"Paige!" I shout through the Tinker prison, "She's there that night! She's probably Accord's…"

"Remember what Accord said that night?" the smartly dressed underling interrupts me again, " 'We want your assistance'? 'It will save the world'? Now you know, partially, what he meant. You can save the world, and I can help you achieve that."

And she looks a little downward, her eyes in the direction of the Transistor as she replies, "… and no. I am not Accord's underling. I work for a separate organization called 'Cauldron', so I prefer the term 'business partner'."

What the… She's talking to me?

"Yes," She says out of the blue. A brief pause later, "No, I can't really read minds from inside the Transistor, but I know what you're saying."

What?

How?

Only Paige can hear me, how did she… is she able to hear me?

No, that's not it. I realise what she's saying is technically wrong; she has just answered me even before I've said anything, pre-empting my very thoughts before they're vaguely half-formed!

Whatever her name is, this woman is…

"My name is Contessa." the smartly dressed stranger volunteers more information, her interruption disrupting my thoughts even further, "Paige Mcabee, I need your help to save the world, and to do that I can give you all the answers you want."

Paige wavers as she takes a step towards this Contessa.

"Now wait just one minute," my sheer concern for my girl overriding my shock, "We're not moving from this spot until I get to know where you stand. I don't know what voodoo magic you're using right now, but if I know my capes…"

"You can see the man you love once again, in person."

Oh fuck me.

I know a checkmate statement when I hear one.

Paige closes her eyes for a moment before she opens them again. I can see the misplaced resolve in her expression.

"Paige, she's a powerful parahuman. We need to know more before we decide our…"

My girl begins to follow.

"Paige!" I yell ineffectively, "She's **dangerous**! She anticipates our thoughts before we even think it, like, like, she's a miniature Simurgh or something! She'll play us for…"

The classily dressed businesswoman gives us a polite nod, turns and starts walking away from us, further into her other world.

"Paige! Don't!" I run out of words to argue with, unable to persuade her.

My girl enters the portal, dragging me along with her.

"Turn around! It's still not too late! You can…"

She can't.

As soon as we're through, the doorway between worlds disappears. The way back now looks the same as the way forward, a never-ending corridor full of doors.

And **NOW** my girl's hesitant once again, her apprehension returning a few seconds too late. Gah! I feel like I can yell at her stupidity for… for…

Cool down.

Calm down.

She needs you right now. Don't mess this up.

Paige walks briskly in the meanwhile, a not quite run to catch up to a still moving Contessa. Even before we reach her, our uncertain ally, probable enemy, and out of the blue stranger begins to speak.

"It all starts with gigantic ancient living forms from space, the leftover remnants of a dead, exhausted world. They're a gestalt species, a hive body of several billions and billions of separate yet conjoined instincts working in concert as a single controlling… persona if you will, as badly as the word fits.

"We call them Entities."

What in the world? Is this a science fiction fairy tale?

"The Entities are everything's wrong with Earth Bet," Contessa continues without pause, "to make a long story short, Entities are, for now, roving researchers of a sort, travelling from world to world, galaxy to galaxy in an attempt to answer an important, unanswered question.

"The goal of their great experiment is to research the very limits of their reality-breaking abilities, to find something that will allow them to survive a great calamity they believe will happen in the distant future. And their guinea pigs are other lifeforms, other intelligences.

"For the here and now, that means us, Humanity."

"Wait just a god damn minute," I whisper, unable to believe the crazy idea that went through my thoughts, "Are you saying…"

"Yes," Contessa turns to face us as she opens a door, indicating both Paige and herself with one hand, "They're here, and they're the reason why we parahumans have powers."

"To put it more appropriately, Entities **ARE** powers; due to the Entities' unique makeup, they are able to split themselves apart into smaller Agents, each of these barely intelligent 'body parts' capable of a range of abilities. Everything a parahuman does are actually a result of a carefully restricted Agent's intervention from an alternate world, an alien module somehow connected to our brains, working with science so far removed from our understanding it might as well be magic.

"And when they're done, when they have collected all _our ideas_ on how to use _their powers_, the Entities will recollect all their Agents to try again elsewhere, killing us all in the process of leaving."

Paige's eyes are wide even as she blinks, trying to absorb the information freely given, clearly trying not to panic at the fact a hostile, alien _alien_ is even right now suckling on her mind.

As for me? I'm trying to absorb the _implications_.

"No." Contessa answers as she waves an arm towards the doorway to get us moving again. She steps through herself without even a glance backwards.

Paige follows, still too stunned by the revelation to show anything other than numb shock.

The room she's leading us down the middle of is a brightly lit hallway, the enormous, enclosed space almost as large as a stadium. I can't identify what they use as a light source, the ceiling probably about as high as the room's length.

Contessa resumes her rambling as soon as we catch up, "We can't, they're too different. Their differences in origin and form make them unmeasurable and incompatible by our standards and vice versa. One that separates us utterly as species is that we are somewhat social beings of cooperation. They are not.

"The Entities' underlying cultural drive is one of conflict driven progress, of improvement through enmity, if you will. This standpoint colours everything that they are, from their bodies and abilities, to their very thought processes. It makes them possess a sort of animal-like cunning in spades, but one that eschews cooperation unless the result includes the total absorption and cessation of one party.

"Or in short: they will rather die than to cooperate peacefully with us, to them leaving their dead body behind for our use **is** cooperation."

I am really getting sick of how this lady is interrupting me before I even _THINK_ up my question.

Unaware of or ignoring my annoyance, the black suited lady stops, standing before a podium-like structure situated in the middle of the room.

'This is crazy,' Paige mouths out silently as she stops behind our guide, 'This is not true, cannot be true.'

A thought comes to my mind.

"But you have found a way, haven't you?" I ask, both to voice my question and to give Paige a modicum of hope, "A way to 'save the world'?"

The smartly dressed woman turns around, and nods.

"Their powers and mindset is their strength but also their weakness. Their Agents may be restricted, but because of their predatory nature, when unrestricted each of them is fully capable of hurting the Entities badly.

"So, if we are able to unrestrict some of the strongest Agents, we can use their very tools to kill them. And we have. Cauldron has found the way to unlock the Agents, distil them, collect them into a weapon that is Humanity's hope against the Entities."

She turns around, looking directly at me.

No, not me.

She's looking at the Tinker broadsword that is my prison.

"You have in your hands Cauldron's final solution, Paige Mcabee." Contessa declares as she pats the podium behind her, "And this is the Transistor's cradle, its firing device."


	18. Victory() 18

**Victory()  
18.0  
**  
We look at the indicated podium.

Well, 'podium' may be the wrong word to use. It is an oddly mundane object given its description, an undecorated waist-height dark grey-green rectangular block. Its only feature is a slot located on the top, an obvious receptacle to accept the Transistor's equally blocky blade.

Maybe she's anticipating Paige's thoughts too, because Contessa begins to ramble without prompting, "The Transistor's cradle is a dimensional blasting machine. Just as as its name suggests, it forcefully breaks down the divide between worlds by using the distilled Agent's innate properties powered by the collected energy of the Agents. Once…"

As she continues to explain the basic operation of the podium before us, I start to feel an itch.

A very familiar itch. One I feel when a client is hiding something from me, or when I've forgotten a loose…

"Also," Contessa says as she swerves topics with the ease of an eighteen wheeler doing a U-turn, "don't worry about the Processes. They're the leftovers of the shard we distilled the Transistor from, a side effect of removing bits of an Entity from its other parts. While troublesome and prone to acts of destruction, they've been surprisingly helpful."

Oh, I am starting to downright _LOATH_ her anticipatory power.

"Even after extraction, the Transistor is the controlling Agent of the leftovers. The Processes will obey the Transistor and by proxy its wielder. All you have to do to stop their spread is to learn how to order them about, and we can stop that crisis anytime once we're done here. This is more important."

My brain finally catches up as the message sinks in.

What?

Paige and I both stared at the Cauldron person as she casually dismissed the cause and effect of a city wide crisis. Does she even have any idea…

"Three hundred and twenty one thousand, nine hundred and fifty three dead." Contessa casually provides, "Another two hundred and ten thousand, one hundred and fifty nine injured, displaced or otherwise affected. For the next 7 days, the count will be zero dead, one displaced. I can tell you the count of those who're not from Boston if you like.

"Here's another number. Five billion people give or take, and that's only for this Earth. **That** is the number of dead and dying in the first day if and when the Entity on Earth decides to start killing Humanity.

"Cauldron is an organization made to watch and kill the Entities, so believe me when I say we have been keeping a close eye on it. While we don't know when, we know it **will**.

"Will you bet five billion lives on the fact it will not rampage today?

"Paige Mcabee, I need you to focus," Contessa finishes with a stare of conviction, "we'll deal with the little things right after we save everyone."

I… there is so many things I can argue, things I can point out.

How it is cold comfort for the victims that the world is saved from a nebulous unknown threat, if they die from roving Processes.

How the Entity has not been rampaging for months before, and is not rampaging right now and we can get back in an instant if we need to, thus we do have some free time to do a quick sidetrip.

How this fucking bitch can get herself some fucking empathy for…

I hold my tongue.

I must be getting really rusty, being alone in this cage.

Contessa steps back from the Cradle, a move that almost seems... respectful.

It is also a clear hint, a request to do what we're here to do.

Paige raises the Transistor in front of her, blade upwards. The ruby-red crystal on the blade hovers in front of her face, as she looks at me.

"Well, so much for solving the Process problem," I try to be as casual as I can, "time to save the world before we go on to save the world."

She smiles briefly before her face becomes serious once again. She adjusts her grip on the handle, letting the Transistor fall over in front of her, holding it up, blade down.

Another five steps brings her to the Cradle… and my girl hesitates.

"Don't worry," the irritating anticipatory voice answers, "The Cradle will only use the energy from the Agents; the personalities inside will not be affected."

She looks back to the rectangular block, takes a deep breath, and another.

And then she lets go.

The agent-distilled blade floats in the air as it begins to brighten, the familiar pulses of green and red. Slight jerks affect the blade as it positions itself over the Cradle, which is also beginning to flare similarly, previously hidden circuitry of orange and blue running over its surface.

The lines of orange and green begin to draw themselves onto the air, bridging the gap between them, casting patterns onto the ground beneath them.

Orange bleeds onto the Transistor's blade. Green starts to encircle the Cradle.

Lines lash out faster than the eye can track, covering everything in a pattern of sharp bends and straight lines as they jink and weave.

Within moments, the whole room is alight with straight lines of colour, the distant walls blending into a rainbow of colour.

And with a sudden plunge, the Transistor descends.

Everything explodes into...

* * *

_a world, lush and beautiful with life._

_I see it from high above, but I can see the distant details…_

_The image shatters_

_I see a room. A huge underground room with bare unbroken concrete walls, not a single window or door in sight._

_It is occupied, almost every single inch containing a… shape._

_An unnatural growth. Arms and legs extend from it almost randomly. Bits and pieces are… not, disappearing somewhere in thin air._

_I feel power building up all around me, as the limbs begin to writhe…_

_There's a pulse._

_The image shatters in a bright light_

_I see… a golden man far below._

_Scion._

_He's flying low over an ocean, causing the waves behind him to still in his wake as he…_

_He stops abruptly._

_He looks around as an aura of calm spreading lazily out from him._

_There's a puzzled expression on his child-like face as he stops._

_Even with a mile between us, I'm sure he's looking directly at me._

_He's expression starts to change…_

_The image shatters_

_A world of red, volcanic dust choking the air._

_There's a crater below me._

_In it, there is a growth of some kind, similar to the other…_

_A flash of gold light bursts between me and the… giant… thing._

_Scion appears from within the explosion. He's already looking up, towards me._

_He appears to be angry, his face twisted into ugliness._

_I feel another wave of power…_

_A blinding golden glow builds around him._

_The power pulses._

_Titanic energies clashes._

_One breaks, yields._

_Scion is screaming as he dissipates._

_The light reaches the crater, and…_

_The image shatters in a bright light_

* * *

"Woah," I exclaim as I was abruptly returned to consciousness from the… dream? vision?

"Did anyone get the number of the truck that… Hey, hey Paige, are you all right?"

Paige groans as she picks herself up from the grassy field, her left hand already cradling her head. Kneeling on one knee, she gropes blindly for the Transistor's handle, succeeding soon after she touches the blade and traces her hand along its edge.

"You alright?"

My girl nods as she lets go of her head. She scrunches her face two or three times, blinking as she begins to stand.

"Ok. Good. Now… where are we?"

We're in a field. Lush green grass surrounds us for miles, a featureless carpet of green. And in the distance…

"That's… a mile-high farmhouse. Either we've just been nominated to be Jack by some magic beans, or we're tripping on some quality stuff," I say, "maybe both."

"Wrong, wrong and wrong," the humorous voice I've learnt to hate replies.

Paige turns around.

We spot Contessa, standing only a few steps from where we are.

She's looking down, examining the object she holds horizontally at her waist.

Holding a Transistor of her own.

Alright, lady. I need me some answers…

"As I've explained, the Transistor uses Agents as a power source," she helpfully obliges, "And we are parahumans, meaning we are humans connected to Agents of our own. This is an inconvenient but anticipated possibility of us getting caught in the Transistor's blast wave.

"Don't worry; the effect will pass. Where we're right now is a construct of the Transistor's Agent, a border between the Transistor and the real world. It's appropriate to think of it as a temporary purgatory of sorts."

I frown, metaphorically. Her choice of words is…

"When distilled, we made the conscious decision to always affix the Transistor to a single user, a person who's in absolute control of the weapon until he gives it up or is slain. I'll spare you the reasons why, but this safety feature is triggering. Now that it has two."

"Paige, be careful," I warn, as Contessa starts to swish her copy of the Transistor to and fro, "get ready for anything."

"So, the Agent behind the Transistor will have to decide who its new administrator is. Simple enough."

Oh crap. I join the dots almost immediately.

The Entities' cultural background makes it easy to know how it will decide.

Trial by combat.

"Watch out!" I shout "She's going to kill us!"

But I am slightly too late.

Without warning, twilight falls.

Almost motionless in the resulting stasis, we watch helplessly as the smartly dressed woman dashes towards us.


	19. Victory() 19

**Victory()  
19.0  
**  
The first trading of attacks between Paige and Contessa tells me everything I need to know about the situation.

The smartly dressed woman in a suit darts in from below our hastily raised blade, her copy of the glowing broadsword flickering as she activates it. A torrent of sparkles bursts from the blade before, with a plunging blade stabbed into the ground, she forms an expanding halo of fire around her, igniting the sparkles, torching the very air around us with explosions.

The twilight fades.

Almost instantly, Paige drops her own twilight into the fight… but the smartly dressed woman is darting away. Not far enough to avoid attacks, but far enough such that Paige will have to waste some of the Turn to get into position. She will have to give up one of her attacks just to get into position...

No, wait, that's wrong.

The Cauldron agent is _STILL_ darting into the distance, her blade burning with a Mover ability of some kind. Even in the stasis of the Turn, I can see the speed at which she's still running away, throwing large chunks of dirt and grass into the air.

She'll get out of range if my girl doesn't plan this properly.

"Careful, Paige, we have to attack her from in front." I suggest needlessly. The plan already drawn, my girl darts forward as the Turn activates, aiming to get in front of her opponent …

… only for a trap to activate, a disk of brilliant white light flashing into being the very moment Paige reappears in reality. The Turn aborts as the ground explodes, flipping her into the air.

The relentless counterattack is not done just yet; three spikes of energy appear out of nowhere, rainbow hued lances of energy hitting her at the crest of her arc, perfectly timed shots aimed with unerring accuracy.

"Paige!" I shout with concern, trying to get her to focus even as I am indicating one of my fellow inmates in the prison, "Right yourself and use this! Try to buy some time!"

She should be able to hear me. I hope she does.

I know she's badly shaken and disorientated, but we're already at a disadvantage. We need to recover, and quickly.

Thankfully, she does.

The Transistor flares as it arcs through the air, drawing a semicircle of power and light.

A forest of vines and trees appears from the ground below, ripping themselves out of the ground as it quickly extends around Paige, forming a wall of flesh between the two Transistor users.

What? How does a cape with a name like Blasto have anything to do with plants?

'Never mind', I think as my girl finally lands onto the ground. With a wall of wood in the way, it'll serve the same purpose. Surely Contessa will be kept aw…

Three gunshots ring out in the grassy field. A small clump of leafs scatter from tiny gaps in the wall.

Three flashes of red twinkles in the air around Paige's forehead.

While protected from the shots, the surprise as well as the full impact of the bullets nonetheless causes Paige to fall backwards, head first onto the ground.

The same ground which turns the same sickening white as before. The resulting explosion blasts away sight and sound, covering us in a cloud of dirt and dust.

At least we're not getting thrown skywards by the explosion this time.

So… yup. Everything I need to know in the first volley of attacks: We're doomed.

But I'm **NOT** going to give up on my girl now. Not just yet, not after having gone so far.

I flip through the directory of my fellow prisoners, ignoring how the Tinker prison is drawing more power from Blasto to build a thicker flesh wall between the combatants, almost not noticing as Paige gets back on her feet a second time.

The list is just as long as ever.

But most of names are dulled, faded.

I have a few guesses as to why, but that doesn't matter right now.

What matters is what remains. Because that's the only thing keeping Paige whole, protecting her from injury.

But there's so little left, the energy in the name list is almost drained dry.

What's just as worrying is Paige's mental state; while Paige is protected physically by the Transistor, her confidence has been battered badly. The loss of initiative, followed by the superior combination of power use has rattled her.

It shows on her posture, slouching heavily onto the Transistor as she uses it as a crutch. It shows on her face, as she turns to look at…

A trio of white orbs fly around the corner, arcing towards our position.

She's still looking, breathing heavily. She has not reacted to the threat yet.

I'll have to stand in for a while, guide her as best I can until she recovers.

But… how?

I'm not a fighter. I'm headstrong, argumentative, inquisitive and calculative enough to go face to face with the best of them, but physically I'm not good in a fight.

"Paige, here!" I grab the first name which might be useful, "Use this and attack the orbs!"

An unnatural darkness surrounds us, dispelling the dust cloud as a large coil of black wrapping protectively around us. The summoned flared tip strikes out with a fanged mouth to bite the orbs before they close…

And the twilight falls unexpectedly. Shit.

Three lances lash out from beyond Blasto's organic wall, hitting our creation on the head, neck and body.

When the twilight fades, Moorg Nag's power starts to dissipate. And nothing stops the orbs from closing in rapidly.

I feel a pull of power as Paige reaches for Pedition's power… But it fails to activate.

Looking down, I realise why. Contessa, that bullshit, has placed some kind of clamping power on us, the glowing beartrap construct trapping Paige's legs in place.

With a boom, electricity arcs between the orbs when they reach us. Paige grits her teeth from the pain, standing in between the three orbs as they unleash more energy between them.

Another name winks out after an earlier in the list, both their energy expended.

"The Turn!" I shout, the only solution I can think of to stop the damage, "Start the Turn!"

The twilight falls.

The world stops its cackling assault for a little while, as heavy breathing fills the sudden silence.

Paige gets a temporary reprieve.

But as I watch the paused lightning around us, I despair

How are we going to get out of this?

I'm not a fighter. Paige's not a fighter.

There's no way we can win this…

No! Think! There must be a way!

I've always proclaimed myself as a smart man able to wriggle out of everything, so think!

Think of something, dammit!

Think…

I check the namelist again. I find two names which might suit my purposes still lighted and ready, the first an unexpected windfall, the second my target.

"Alright," I say, "Paige? I got a longshot, but I think we can try this."

I get a feeling, a pull as Paige accesses the souls I am indicating. I see her frown as she realises the previous owner of one power.

I can feel her hesitance, heavy in the air.

"Yea. I know," I say casually, hoping my girl will not hear the tension behind my voice, "An untested power might backfire on us, just like Blasto's. But we're losing. We need a longshot."

Time continues to stay still as indecision grips her.

"Paige?"

My girl raises her head and looks around her. At the arcs of lightning around us. At the glowing ethereal trap keeping us in place.

Still reluctantly, she grips the Transistor tightly with both hands.

And activates Accord's power.


	20. Victory() 20

**Victory()  
20.0  
**  
The Transistor thrums as it starts to draw power from Accord's Agent.

The glow of the green tracers on the broadsword's blade pulses, giving an image of false motion on the blade surface.

The very air trembles with anticipation, as the Transistor flares brightly. The frequency of the pulses increase sharply, and the ruby red circular centrepiece begins to blink a counterpoint.

Soon, the pulses of green and red starts to blend in, becoming a steady flickering glow as the brightness reaches eye-searing levels, the light bleeding from the blade in ethereal wisps of green fire.

And then, suddenly…

Nothing.

The sword goes from glowing to inert from one moment to the next, the contrast leaving afterimages in the air, making our surroundings dark despite the frozen, uncomfortably close lightning arcs.

We stay in the 'darkness' for a good long while, closely observing the Transistor for any activity. It's as if we're expecting a jump scare in our favour, anticipating the Transistor to suddenly jump alive with an astounding effect from the Thinker Agent, a surprise that will instantly solve all our problems in an instant.

Nothing.

Paige gives the Transistor an experimental shake or three.

Well, the universe exists to disappoint.

I feel a tug within the Tinker prison, as Paige try to activate Accord's power again.

This time, the feeling slides off the Tinker Agent as if it is unable to latch onto the imprisoned power. As if something is protecting the Agent, refusing its use.

Paige's sigh tells me she thinks the same as me.

"Well, shit," I say out loud entirely by reflex, "Well, there goes that plan. Do you have any other ideas?"

Silence.

"Paige?"

More silence.

I look up at my girl. She has a blank look on her face, a thousand yard stare.

And just below that there's a smile on her lips, a downright evil smirk I've previously seen only on the faces of parahuman Villain overlords.

A green line starts to draw itself as my girl starts the Plan…

No, wait. There's another line, split off from the first. And another. And a whole bunch more.

Holy shit.

The ground beneath Paige's feet sprout with a forest of green tendrils, a whole mess of lines splitting off from another whole mess of lines, drawing themselves every which way on the ground.

I recognize the splits for what they are.

Backup Plans. Contingencies. Reactionary measures. Do these if this happens, do those if that happens.

The complexity of the diagram on the ground astounds me. Such is the complexity of the myriad of paths that the ground immediately beneath Paige's feet is already a solid green patch of thin lines. Just looking at it gives me a headache

Within moments, it is finished.

Paige looks at me as she straightens her posture, the smirk strangely out of place on her face.

I let out an audible chuckle myself.

"Come, let's activate the other Agent and see what we get."

* * *

We're ready as we can be.

But Paige being Paige, there's a crease on her forehead, her worry showing through.

"Well," I say, "there's only one way to find out."

My girl nods, and activates the Plan.

Suddenly, sound returns, the crackling of lightning as the three orbs continue their attack.

A gigantic burst of dust interrupts that, a shockwave of wind destroying everything nearby as Ash Beast's power annihilates our attackers.

Almost at the same time, I hear the sound of gunfire, and immediately following that a loud whistle of displacing air.

Perdition's ability activates once, twice.

The bullet misses.

The ground behind us explodes in thunder and fire as a meteor misses.

The Turn ends.

Objects appear. Breed's power produces a couple of orbs of headless white flesh, the cat-like mockeries of life running towards the now visible female figure to the side of our wooden wall.

More gunfire rings out. Breed's orbs dissipate as the bullets tear into them, but they're only a distraction; the Tinker sword flares as it produces the follow up attack, the visible blast wave flying over the orbs' disappearing bodies.

Contessa barely manages to hold her Transistor up before the wall of lightning washes over her, throwing her to the ground.

It's our first successful attack. We've finally going somewhere.

The Cauldron agent dashes as soon as the wall of light is past, her Transistor flaring as she activates a mover power. Within instants, she is up and running towards our wall, intending to use it as cover...

She jerks to an involuntary stop, tumbling as she does so.

Paige lets go of Valefor's power, the burning sickly green aura fading from the Tinker blade. I feel a pull on myself as she switches abilities, a lance of bright blue stabbing out, the unavoidable attack hitting our opponent on her back.

Contessa stumbles back, tucking into a roll…

And a gunshot rings out, the explosion of discharging gunpowder flashing from beneath Contessa's rolling form. A red twinkle bursts right in front of Paige's eye, the result of a bullet.

Paige's mouth opens in a silent gasp of surprise as she flinches back.

Blinded and distracted by the Transistor's protection, she does not see the bone-white pigeon swooping in from the sky. It reaches us, and there's a sudden explosion.

But Paige's head is no longer there.

Having anticipated the danger, she's back flipping backwards, swinging the Transistor in front of her even as she falls onto the ground. I feel a draw on me again, a bright blue bolt of energy lances out as she throws the distillation of my ability into the distance.

Contessa's reaction is immediate; dodging to the side as the bolt quickly covers the distance between us.

The blue streak suddenly swerves in its path, the pre-planned change correctly guessing how the well dressed woman will dodge. Unable to dodge the attack, the Cauldron agent charges forward into our attack.

The blast hits the braced Transistor...

And the enemy's twilight falls.

When it lifts, Contessa's suddenly not where she is.

In her place, multiple attacks are rapidly approaching us. Tentacles reach forward from a floating orb, another ball of energy bouncing off the floor, and a wave of liquid falling from the sky.

Paige dodges to the best of her ability, but even with Teacher's enhancement on herself, some of the acid rain splashes onto her, causing her to wince in pain.

Ignoring the wisps of acid burns, Paige turns to look for…

"There!" I point out where Contessa is, having moved to the side of her latest attack, and is now closing the gap between us using her Mover ability.

My girl jerks to a stop, a look of horror etched on her face.

Something's wrong.

"The Turn is ready," I remind her, "call it!"

She doesn't seem to hear me. Falling onto her knees, she claws at her own face, her mouth open in a silent scream.

"Paige!" I shout with concern, trying to break her out of her terror. "Paige, listen to me…"

Paige collapses onto the grass. She holds onto the Transistor only by reflex, the other fist drawing blood from where her fingernails are tightly jammed into her palm, her fingers bled white by the strain.

"Paige Mcabee," our smartly dressed opponent walks casually up to us, even as her opponent writhes by her feet, "I have to say, that was impressive."


	21. Victory() 21

**Victory()  
21.0  
**  
Contessa's Transistor is still flaring as she stands over Paige's prone body.

"You cannot beat me," the Cauldron agent continues, her tone as direct and matter of fact as reading the time from a watch, "You cannot win, because my ability is to win. No matter how much planning you have, or how much danger you sense, if there is a way to win, I will. That's all there is to it. So now…"

She raises her Transistor into the air, holding the weapon blade downwards. Pointing it at Paige, who's curling in on herself on the grass, still incapacitated by whatever it is being used on her.

"Don't do this! Please!" I shout out trying to delay the inevitable as long as possible, my voice my only weapon left, "Don't! Didn't you promise Paige she'll see me in person?!"

The upraised blade pauses. She looks down at me, at the crystal of the Tinker sword. Her expression changes from her usual blankness to one of thinking.

"I suppose I can tell you," Contessa answers as she lowers her still glowing sword, "You've been quite helpful to my plans, after all. But I am sending her to see you, in person. Sort of.

"In this place, I can't kill her even if I want to, not in this purgatory. What happens when I 'kill' her, or destroy her Transistor, is we going our separate ways; I'm going back to the real world, and you two will get to meet as promised. The only difference is where.

"See, there's no way of getting a person out of the Transistor. There's only the personality left inside, and nothing Cauldron had tried can get the personality back into the person. So if you can't go one way, I'll have to make do by going the other way."

She shifts her glaze over to Paige, where she's hugging her legs into herself on the ground, "Yes, I implied otherwise when we first met, but I did say the truth. The only way you both are going to meet in person is to insert Paige into the Transistor as a new Agent.

"So, any other questions before we… there is," she answers in that irritating anticipatory way of hers, "Cauldron's going to do nothing I guess, seeing as our purpose is done. Maybe we'll even disband…

"And **lastly**," she stresses the word as she looks at me again, "what am **_I_** going to do? I don't know… but… Dr Mother talked about feudalism through power once, a government of capes for when Zion is dead.

"I supposed I'll make that my next goal, saving Humanity from itself. With me at the top of course; my ability can guide everyone into the future with the least number of losses, and," she taps the crystal of the Transistor, "with the most powerful weapon after Zion in my hands, I shouldn't experience too many stumbling blocks."

"So you'll be a tyrant, wiping out all resistance to bring peace by any means necessary," I blurt out harshly, a result of my conclusion of her words and my low opinion of her, "bullying everyone into your line of thinking without mercy, destroying their lives."

"If that's what it takes, then that's what it takes." she says nonchalantly, "Just like how a mere few thousand parahumans and you two, and we save trillions from multiple Earths. Don't you think that's a fair trade?"

What? Did she just say…

"Alright, enough delay," Contessa plants both feet apart as she raises her sword again, "this is where we say good…"

A third voice interrupts us.

A scream of horror.

"What?" Contessa manages to blurt out before the twilight descends.

We spend barely a moment in the Turn before a Plan is done.

When the veil of stopped time lifts, Paige is still screaming. On her feet, she screeches like the banshees of legend as she swings her weapon.

A screech of rage.

Contessa is already moving, the Mover ability she favours burning through her blade. But she can't escape; she is caught in the web of Accord's plan.

No matter how she moves, Accord's plan has a mess of reactions stacked against every counter, every dodge.

The green of Paige's Transistor paints a beautiful arc as it adjusts to all of Contessa's changes, her attempts to dodge.

And with a clank, for the first time the two Transistors smash into each other.

Surprisingly, it is Contessa's weapon that loses the clash of strength, shifting to the side as Paige pushes against her own blade.

And just as suddenly I understand why.

Paige's aria is no longer disguised as a screech, a crescendo of a singer reaching for the high octaves as her power pulses through her, making her opponent relaxed, suggestible.

I feel a pull from within. Another power activates, power running straight down the length of the Tinker broadsword. It bursts brightly at the tip of the weapon, a flash unlike that of a camera.

Contessa's arm jerks involuntarily, a parahuman power sending the wrong signal down her nerves.

Our opponent is still dangerous. But her guard is finally broken wide open, her arm straight out to her side.

Immediately I feel another pull, another power.

Ash Beast's power bursts out furiously as Paige swings her Transistor awkwardly down onto Contessa's stretched out elbow without any buildup, the swing lacking any sort of power.

The very air burns as a gigantic blast of fire explodes, pushing everything away from the attacking Transistor.

And it is only at that very moment I understand Paige's penultimate objective, the combination of attacks to get us to this point.

Caught to the right of the Tinker blade, Contessa is forcefully thrown away, flying almost horizontally as she is displaced a few meters in a matter of moments.

And caught to the left of the Tinker blade is Contessa's copy of the Transistor.

The other Transistor is flung into the sky by the time the twilight lifts, spinning lazily as it falls in the distance, a forearm still attached to the handle.

Our copy of the Transistor is already charging.

We are already charging, running after our opponent's falling weapon.

Impacts hit us from behind. Contessa uses her pistol on us again and again, trying to stop us from the inevitable conclusion.

Bullets hit Paige's legs and sometimes her head, precisely placed to cause her to stumble each time.

It doesn't matter. Bullets can't affect Paige much, with the protection of the Transistor on her. We're still the faster, especially when my girl uses Perdition's ability again and again.

We reach our opponent's weapon first, just as it is about to touch the ground.

With a final burst of power, a final swing of our Transistor, the very air warps before us, and a cone of nearly uncontrolled power appears, blasting everything in the area before us.

Contessa's Transistor falls into the deadly field of energy and floats, trapped within.

I see it break apart almost in slow motion as the constant damage stacks. The sides of the blade are the first to go, dissolving into motes of green.

The crystal circle cracks, as the handle snaps into more bits than I can count.

The triangular pommel guard starts to glow.

Another round of pistol shots hit us from behind, causing a twinkling display of red blinks. It doesn't do enough damage to matter, not with the reserves we have.

The ruby circle finally crumbles, as the rest of the blade dissolves in the very air.

The handle dissipates.

And with a final wink, the pommel guard disappears.

It is over.

"Nooo!" I can hear the scream of despair from behind us, as our opponent watches her defeat from the distance.

I look backwards, careful of possible last minute trickery.

I might as well not bother. The figure in the distance cuts a pitiful figure as she kneels in the dirt, her hand in her face as she starts to dissolve into the ground.

She's almost somebody to be pitied, just for that scene alone.

Almost.

The field starts to glow, a comfortable green everywhere the eye can see.

Paige closes her eyes, relaxing in the light as it envelopes everything.

* * *

And then we're back.

We're in front of the Cradle again, the large room still as empty as ever.

Paige steps forward and places a hand on the podium as she looks right and left, holding onto the only solid object in the room as if to reassure herself she's back.

After a few moment of silence, of returning ourselves from the adrenaline high of what just happened, I break the silence.

"Alright," I say, "Now what?"

Paige shrugs to my question, looking down at my prison in her hands.

"Now, you get to go home." A sad voice answers from behind us.


	22. Victory() 22

**Victory()  
22.0  
**  
Still keyed on adrenaline after the recent win, we quickly turn around. My girl brandishes the Transistor in front of her as she assumes a combat pose, already in position to attack…

… an old woman in a lab coat, smartly dressed under the white garment.

Her ethnicity is South American, by my first guess, or maybe she's someone with African ancestry. But her facial features seem to say otherwise.

"I'm not hostile," the new arrival says as she holds her hands out to the sides of her, showing us her empty hands with the exception of a paperless clipboard. "My name is Doctor Mother, and I'm here to thank you for all that you've done."

"No you aren't," I counter, "You're here to wait for your Contessa."

Silence hangs on the air for a bit, as the two look at each other in the over-large room.

"Oh, right," I say my thoughts out loud, "she can't hear me."

Silence continues to hold sway over the area, broken only by the clearing of a throat, as this 'Doctor Mother' person returns her arms to her, clutching her clipboard to her chest with crossed arms.

"Paige my dear," I prod, "maybe you'll have to…"

"_erm… no problem?_" Paige whispers softly from beneath a face looking almost directly down onto the ground.

… well, that's progress, I guess.

"Don't worry about responding, dear" this 'Doctor Mother' person responds, "I've been briefed on your quirks, as well as your history with us. I am very sorry that things have to happen this way…"

And just like that, we're both alert and ready for an attack again.

"… but we've done all that so we can kill the Entity," Doctor Mother continues without flinching, despite the tip of a glowing Tinker blade directly in front of her face, "now that it's dead and everything's over, we're no longer enemies. Instead, as the person who activated the Cradle and dealt the killing blow, Cauldron owes you a great debt.

"Is there anything we can provide for you, anything we can help with? Fame? Legality? Riches? I'm told that you'll likely want a way home first of all."

My girl lowers the tip of her sword from the other's face as she nods.

"Is there anything else?" Doctor Mother adds.

After a moment to think on the offer, I say, "No, better not," at the very same time Paige shakes her head.

"Very well then. Door me."

Without warning, a small tear appears in thin air behind the speaker. Within moments it expands to the size of an average doorway, the widening of a different reality all the more unnatural because of how silent it is.

I recognize the scene beyond the doorway.

So, it seems, does Paige, who looks towards the doctor lady with a raised eyebrow.

"I've been told that's where you'll consider as home." Doctor Mother answers the unasked question.

My girl nods. Then Paige does something I does not expect.

Still looking at the Doctor, she lifts the Transistor in front of her and taps the blade inquisitively.

A puzzled expression crosses the other woman's features, before an "ah" of understanding escapes her lips.

"I… well… keep it, dear," the Doctor replies, complete with a bow, "it is yours now…"

Paige remains awkwardly still in front of the deep bow for a moment before, with an unseen nod and a polite smile, she dismisses the bow and starts to walk.

As we pass by, my lower vantage point allows me to see the bowing person's frown, the twist of her eyebrows, the wrinkles of the downward sides of her lips, a clearly unhappy expression.

I do not tell Paige about that.

The sooner we're out of here, the better.

Except…

"Paige Mcabee," the Cauldron lady calls out just as Paige is about to step through the doorway, "just one more thing; The Cradle has reset the activities of the Processes, but with the Transistor in hand, you can control them again.

"There are a few ways to do so, but all of them involve thinking of what they should do while you visualise the Transistor in your mind, and they'll do it no matter how far away they are."

That's it? Seriously, it's that simple? That…

I think I hate Contessa just a bit more, now.

Paige's response is a single pause in a single step, before she continues to walk forward.

Soon enough, we're through.

The doorway closes behind us without delay.

Looking through the rapidly narrowing portal, I see the Doctor's posture collapse. She falls into what can only be described as an unmotivated slouch, her head hidden from view from Paige.

The last glimpse I have of her is the woman turning towards the podium, her back to us.

And then we're alone.

We look around.

The evening sun shines through the glassless windows as it sets, painting the white walls a bloody red.

But despite the white coating covering every inch of the walls and all of the missing furniture, I'm sure Paige knows where we are. I know I do.

We're in my penthouse suite.

The room where it all started, seemingly ages ago, but only mere months has passed.

Paige turns towards the sun, walking to the windows. The landscape is a brilliant white tainted red. It looked like blood, sprayed all over the skyscraper's facade.

She stands there as she closes her eyes to the brilliance of the sun, basking in its heat, not looking at the unnatural beauty of the landscape.

As she remains still, I spot something.

An inert Jerk in the next room, its single eye looks dull in the contrast of the red sunlight.

An idea comes to me. Why not?

I begin to visualise.

A moment later, I say playfully, "Hey, Paige, you might want to look to your left."

She does, blinking her eyes from the afterimages courtesy of the sun. With a startled yelp, she brings up the Transistor in an instant.

The Jerk continues to spin in place, its white teardrop body balanced on one leg.

"Yup," I laugh, "Apparently even _**I**_ can do this. Watch."

I think of another action, another order.

The Jerk shoots through the doorway even as it continues to spin like a top.

Moving away from Paige, of course. No need to take any chances that I'll lose control.

Paige laughs at the antics of our former enemy, firmly in the grip of our control as it continues to spin about in the…

And it trips on an almost invisible protrusion in the middle of the room. Tumbling along the floor, it crashes into my former electric fireplace, where it stops.

The laughter stops.

I can guess why.

Paige stumbles forward towards the bump the Jerk has tripped over, the only feature left in the room previously hidden behind the dimensional doorway. She places a finger, a palm on the blocks of white that lay there, feeling the hard, white marble-like surface embedded there.

I know very well what it is.

It used to be a living man.

It used to be a body.

It used to be me.

As she continues to stroke a marble unliving face, I feel the need to say something.

"Paige, that used to be me, but no anymore," I start, "that's not me, only a shell remains if you get what I mean. I'm…"

… in the Transistor.

Shit.

I watch Paige lift the Tinker weapon in front of her, bringing the weapon's jewelled insert before her eyes.

A sad little smile on her face tells me everything I need to know.

"I don't mind being in here," I furiously backtrack, "but you, you're free. I've set you free once, and you've gone through hell and back to be free again.

"In fact, you're freer than most right now, because if you believe those Cauldron girls, you have more power at your fingertips than Scion himself. All that power can easily buy a ticket to **remain** free, because no matter what anyone thinks, nobody will dare tell…"

Shit, was that too close to Contessa's attitude on her plans?

"Go, go out into the world," I try to salvage my argument, "Enjoy everything you can out there, girl. You've earned it. You've your whole life ahead of you.

"Don't worry about leaving me behind. It's not me anyways; as long as you bring the Transistor with you, I'll be able to share all your moments with you. Don't be sorry for asking what might have been. But please, dear, don't get tied down by the… past."

… a scene from the past appears in my thoughts, the last time I've said that exact phrase.

The flash of melancholy on Paige's expression tells me she remembers that too. She wraps both her hands around the Tinker Broadsword again, hugging it tightly to herself.

"Paige…" I add, unsure of what she's going to do.

With the bittersweet smile still on her lips, her next words were the softest of whispers, "_I want to see you again._"

A heavy feeling of dread washes over me.

"Paige." I say again, as she stands up in the middle of the room, holding the Transistor by the handle once more. "Don't."

Her voice is louder, but the words are the same, "I want to see you again."

"Paige, don't! Do not do what I think you're about to do! Just think logically for a minute! What you're about to give up, this is not even close to being a fair trade…"

'Just what is _WRONG_ with me today?' I think as images of Contessa's argument springs up in my thoughts.

My girl looks around her in the middle of the darkening room. She slowly pans her sight over the whitewashed walls, the missing furniture and out through the windows at the setting sun.

She smiles distractedly, as if she remembered something.

"Paige Mcabee, I'm telling you, if you dare do this I'll be very cross with you, you hear me?!" I try to inject as much sternness into my voice, but it comes out in a very odd cadence, "Paige, don't do this. Don't you dare disappoint me, girl, don't…"

I feel the Transistor flare, as it draws on an ability from its library.

Contessa's.

And as I feel the drain of the power taking shape, I feel the Transistor draw on another Agent, one we have not experimented on before.

The Transistor leaves her grip but somehow remains in her control, floating in the air on its own power.

"Paige? Paige? Paige, baby, you do not want to be doing this. Don't you dare do this, you hear me. I don't want this. Don't do this…"

I realise I am babbling, but I don't care.

"Paige Mcabee… I… I…"

"I know."

She smiles one last time.

And the sun sets.

***  
_A/N: this is oddly difficult to write for some reason._


	23. Epilogue() x1

**Epilogue()  
x.1  
**  
A tear between realities occurred, the light from the other side lighting up the dusty room. It widened until it was the size of a door, a rectangular shape to another world.

An old woman in a lab coat stepped through.

She looked around warily, as if afraid of immediate danger. But after a while in which nothing jumped out of the darkness at her, she relaxed.

Sighing, she dispelled the doorway as she turned towards her objective.

A black monolith stood upright in the middle of the featureless room, almost hidden by the dark of the night. Its tip sunk into the white floor, making it look like a decoration or a partition, the slab's former purpose betrayed only by the handle sticking out from its top.

It stood there, alone in a room without doors, undisturbed by the dead and the living.

Until now.

The woman stepped forward, observing the object, the weapon. Silence filled the room as they pondered each other.

A hand reached forward.

A tight slap echoed in the room. Wincing at the self-inflicted damage, the woman rubbed the sore on one hand with the hand she had used to slap. She took a careful step backwards before she began to speak.

"Hello."

There was silence in the room. Nothing responded to the statement.

"Contessa… I…"

The midnight black slab remained inert.

"I was afraid this will happen, back when we finally found a way to end everything. But we needed an advantage so much, so I kept my thoughts to myself."

The darkness of the room seemed to press inwards, intensifying the oppressiveness of the words uttered.

"Logically, I'm glad this happened. If my guess is correct, if what I think has happened happened, it only serves to emphasize the good intentions in your heart.

"We moved to save the world, primarily from Zion of course, but we had always tried so many other things that will save it too. The pureness of the end result you believed, what you've always wanted, under all the filth of necessity…

"Well, what can I say? The world's doing ok for the most part. With all the suddenly missing parahuman villains and overlords, it's doing very… no, no. I can't say that, not with China collapsing into a chaos of a revolution, Russia's underworld crumbling to bits and bringing down their entire society with them, and outright war in the Middle East.

"As long as two people have opinions of their own, there will always be inevitable conflict. Some quarrels have wounds that just run too deep.

"But all in all, the world's doing better than it had for a long time now. Africa and Australia is stabilizing against all odds, and Europe is doing quite well for itself. Even in America, having three to one odds on the side of the good guys is helping us quite greatly, and both the Protectorate and the Guild are putting feelers into South America. The most pessimistic Thinkers are putting it at around ten years before the dust settles over there.

"And the Endbringers. The Endbringers remain inert. I guess your theory is correct after all…

"So, yes. I guess we… sort of obtained world peace in our lifetime. Sort of."

The still air remained.

"And we have you to thank for this victory."

Not even a single breeze blew in from the only openings in the room.

"But I don't feel like we've won. Whose victory is it? Take this for example, this conclusion. Can this even be called a victory? Is it even a victory from a certain point of view, a sophism of what's not?

"What victory? What **is** victory, at the end of the day?"

Nothing could be seen in the room, as the night reached its darkest.

"I guess I am paying the price for my silence now. I just… I've always thought of myself as detached, you know? Remove myself from everything, bury all my feelings so I can make the tough decisions I need to make.

"I've always wanted a daughter, you know that? Well, I… I had one, I had one right beside me all those while, and I didn't know it. And now I've lost her.

"I… I just want you to know that…"

There was a suppressed sob.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

A few more sobs sighed through the air, before a single sniff silenced it.

Doctor Mother cleared her throat and looked into the inky black of the darkness. Closing her eyes, she remembered what she wanted to say.

"I know something I can do. I just need to reach forward and grab the handle, and then I can talk to you again. But as much as I want to do that, I cannot.

"It'll cheapen your victory, your sacrifice. With ultimate power in someone's hands, it will not be a total victory…

"I…"

The only living person in the room took a deep breath again, before she nodded to herself.

"The Processes will keep you safe, if the Boston quarantine zone doesn't keep enough people out well enough.

"So, seeing as you'll not have much in visitors, as long as I'm alive and kicking I'll drop by from time to time. To tell you about the world we saved, and how it's progressing.

"I… I guess I'll see you around. Goodbye, my daughter.

"Door me."

The harsh light of another world entered the room. Soon, it was gone, and so was the room's visitor.

The jewel of the Transistor seemed to reflect a light that did not exist in the room as morning rises over a dead city.


	24. Epilogue() x2

**Epilogue()  
x.2  
**  
"Come on, don't be a grouch."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I shouldn't? I think my choice's all good."

"I still think you made a very wrong decision."

"Stop acting snooty and kiss me."

"I set you free! Instead, you got yourself stuck in here with me! Why?"

"Because I want to be _WITH_ you, silly."

"But this is the worse result that could …"

"Tell me, Slayer of Dragons, Rescuer of Princesses and general all around Savior, how 'free' can I be when I can't get into the embrace of the man I want to be with?"

"You're not seeing my poi-mmmmf…"

"Tell me, Mister Quinn Calle, is the kiss I've just given you any good?"

"I…"

"Is this really the worse result you've dealt with?

"…"

"Now shut up and get yourself a little classic reward."

"You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"And that's why you love me."

"I do."

"And~~?"

"And… no, this isn't the worst."

"Told ya."

**Sword and Song****  
(Worm/Transistor)  
-Fin-**


	25. Post story notes

**Finale: Author's Notes**

If you've followed me up to here... well, we have a completed Worm fic. Thank you very much for following me in this (newbie) author's first completed fanfic...

This entire "chapter" will be the after-fic author's notes, as promised (in the SB/SV threads). But first, here's the original sketch of the entire story, almost unchanged since the first time the general outline of the fic is planned out:

Start()  
\- Intro arc - introduces the basic Transistor mechanics to the Worm audience (and vice versa)  
_\- this is the spot where I realized I have something I want to complete, and planned everything below -_  
\- Accord interlude.

Fate()  
\- **Coil arc**  
o Wandering…  
o More wandering. Ends with spotting Coil's mercs and being spotted, Hounded.  
o Captured. Singing. Crying (?)  
o Coil 'interview'.  
o INTERRUPT! Process!  
o Paige escapes Coil's base, fights the Travellers and owns them with Turn().  
\- The court case, Accord shows up with Transistor.  
\- Accord interlude #2: out of control. Learns processes are overrunning Boston. A process kills Coil.

Order()  
\- **Accord arc**.  
o Oh hai there, Gregor. Turns out he's a fan of Bad Canary. Interview in Palaquin's (Who's Accord. What's happening)  
o Arrival in Boston. Mess of processes. Paige goes in, Faultline's crew doesn't.  
o Accord's tower. Running fight. Defeating biggest Process, the Spine (large monster boss).  
o Accord's contact and parley, but turns out he's dead on arrival. Reading written notes. A Doorway portal opens. Contessa.  
\- Dr Mother interlude: (alternate) history of Cauldron.

Victory()  
\- **Cauldron arc**  
o Entry into Cauldron. Friendly chat. Learning about Scion. Contessa's plans. Power of the Transistor.  
o Activating the Cradle. Scion killed. Memories.  
o Contessa dual-transistor fight.  
o Finale. Led to safe place where it all started: Paige's penthouse. Quinn Calle's body. Suicide. Dr Mother leaves Transistor alone.  
\- (short) Epilogue: Paige and Quinn Calle

(As you can see, there are some changes)

* * *

Wildbow said: ↑

Prompts:  
Quinn Calle dealing with one of the 'I've dealt with worse' situations.  
…

This is what started it all. Wildbow's prompt (over in SB, a long loooong time ago)

Which I actually wanted to double-subvert: Originally, I actually want Quinn to experience a really, really bad situation which he would normally say 'I've **NOT** dealt with worse'… then he thinks for a bit. And then say something similar to 'I've dealt with worse. Because this? This is actually not so bad.'

To do that… well, I have the feeling that with Quinn Calle's background and history, his specialty as a _VILLAIN_ lawyer, the PRT's hardboiled rules-breaking directors, and the general crapsackiness of parahumans in general, he has to had a lot of interesting interactions by the time we see him in canon.

Thus, it would take a **BIG** event for him to actually say a situation is really bad.

Like, say, him dying.

But if he's dead, he's not around to comment about how things are not so bad now, is he?

This reason, and the fact that I've just completed a Transistor marathon. And its major plot point of "the person stuck in the keystone device". And the Process()'s curious parallel as "inter-dimensional beings invading the world in the background".

The rest is just loads of planning… which went surprisingly smoothly all in all **

_** it went smoothly simply because I cheated: I cribbed the entire Transistor timeline/story and copy and pasted it into the Worm universe. I made no secret of this. I said in the summary: "A Worm-world Transistor-storyline short story fusion."_

The only real 'work' I've to do for plot is the background work I did to fuse the Transistor story properly into the Worm universe in such a way that it makes sense.

Also, so happens at that point in time, I **ALSO** wanted to do a "Ryuugi" aka "Here be Dragons". For those not in the know: Write something in the Worm universe that will actually, finally be a complete standalone story, for once.

Even if you have to cut a story into ribbons in order to make that happen.

_(Because the original work Worm is a very, very lengthy affair, there are too many unfinished Worm fanfic stories out there with most of them stuck at the "Setup Taylor's future life" part of things…)_

To this end, the story's format (aka narration stylistic choices) _AND_ becomes very appealing, as well as the choice of the arcs: 4 arcs with 4~5 snips each with first person limited PoV should be sufficiently short to cover the entire fic in no time flat (relatively), while the nature of the narrator's brevity _(aka, the narrator does not immediately dive into 10 paragraphs of which coffee he's going to take this morning)_ means each snip in itself will be quite easy to push out.

And of course, we all know what'll happen if we go about taunting Murphy: **This fic stalled in the middle of it all for a few months.**

Says something about myself that I almost didn't manage to complete the fic **that is planned to be easy to complete **

But, so happens a chain of events occurred one fine day sometime a month back… and here we are, at the end of it all.

* * *

**Fusion Background notes**

**The one Butterfly:**  
Eden did not manage to fully restrict the PtV, leaving behind a crack in the restrictions of the shard: somehow, Eden forgot to restrict PtV unlocking PtV itself, allowing Contessa to bring out its full potential.

And Contessa knows, even if she can't do anything about it by herself at the start. But by knowing, Contessa knows approximately how to go about remove the lock… but it'll take time and a few powers not yet available to her…

**The storm from flapping wings:**  
(I hope I alluded to these events enough such that you can construct large parts of it from some imagination and clues gathering)

Cauldron still went on as it did, **but** halfheartedly, and only as a fallback plan. Dr Mother allowed Contessa to try to attempt to open the lock at every opportunity. It took decades to crack the lock. Years of nearly unchanging canon _(except a few capes being visited here, a few others disappearing there. Nothing really major canon-wise)_

The first big deviance from Earth Bet's canon history is Cauldron's discovery of Accord and his trigger. Contessa met with Accord, right after he got fired. Accord still eventually became a warlord, but under the Cauldron umbrella.

His problem solving skills allows Cauldron to arrange [-not going to be mentioned -], and through Accord and Citrine's help planning, some cape-napping and 'enforced' recruitment, Triumvirate assistance, and what not, Cauldron broke open the seal to Contessa's powers against the complexity of the inter-dimensional, multi-temporal lock surrounding PtV, changing it subtlety, but completely.

(Bonesaw and Manton may be involved, Jack Slash got himself PtV'ed into a ditch. Readers may never know what exactly happened…)

And so, now we have a Contessa capable of pathing herself to killing Zion.

But what Cauldron don't know _(but Doctor Mother suspects, as per the epilogue)_ is that PtV is "imperfectly" fixed: PtV has becomes Path to Absolute Victory.

It doesn't seem like much, but that little distinction makes a world of difference.

Not only does PtAV solve the victory condition stated, but it also every other axillary Path and Objectives, as well as any and all unconscious victory conditions in the mindset of the PtAV shard's owner.

Thus, the "Victory" isn't exactly so ironclad anymore, as in _*gruff batman voice*_ "not the victory they want, but the victory they need". And because of that, **it can now harm its owner if the "victory" is against its owner's unconscious wants.**

With the unlocking of the PtV, Contessa immediately calls on PtV to kill Scion.

The Path gives a somewhat long winded set of steps.

The crux of the steps are: crack open the locked shard dimensions, distill and encapsulate the core of the **Sting Shard** into a container (the Transistor). Sting as you know, is a multi-dimensional attack shard so effective that the Entities did not change it in between cycles.

With Accord's help again (unlocking the same locks that restricted PtV), they do just that.

The Shard is weakened by becoming physical, as well as the fact it's an "imbue" shard: it changes the state of something else to attack. Thus, Cauldron begins a process to absorb the "souls" of strong, matured parahumans as a power source (read: shards) as well as adding their distinctive attacks to Sting's attack ability.

The Processes are leftovers of the distillation process: Still technically parts of the shard that is Sting, they followed through the rift in dimensions to the physical shard. They're all, to the last, mini-Endbringers in terms of toughness: thou not having Endbringer's ultimate dimensional bruteness, they have enough of that to cause problems for anyone who's not Triumvirate-level.

And they obey the holder of the Transistor. Little miniature attack bots on call. What's not to love?

The storyline diverges into parallel tracks here:  
Accord:  
Accord came to the total domination of Boston much earlier than canon, thanks to a suspiciously competent well dressed woman in a suit

His Boston operations expand exponentially due to having Contessa on speed dial (one of the boons he got from Cauldron), as well as mysterious white Tinker Tech obliterating enemies, and also the curious occurrences of the Duo-virate* messing around in Boston at the "worst" times for Accord's opponents.

_*There's a hint that that Eidolon got himself a bad end. Readers may never know what exactly happened…_

Thus, with that much firepower at his beck and call, Accord only really need to keep (and does so) Citrine in his organization (who loves Accord, but that isn't reciprocated).  
(Doylist: I can't write large group interactions for nutts.)

Cauldron allows him to hold onto the Transistor. Why?  
For Accord, it's a show of power over Cauldron.  
For Cauldron: it doesn't hurt, so why not?

Simply put, Accord is able to form complex plans to use the Transistor efficiently on his enemies (which powers it up), and on the other hand to form complex plans to use the controlled Processes. Cauldron simply arranges "field trips" for the Villain to go abroad if they find suitable targets not in Boston.

And then PtAV sets up Canary's situation…

Cauldron:  
Loads of om nom noms occurs in the following years after the Transistor was complete, the target shard's strengths and abilities either recommended by the PtAV, or so powerful that PtAV doesn't need to.

Various parahumans are absorbed, in ways and locations out of sight.

There's a lot of handwaves going on for this part. For example, Dragon is one big plothole that I waved off. She got "bought off"? Got a giftwrapped Saint to look the other way? Removed select restrictions? Bringing her into the fold and/or knows Cauldron, but refuses to join?

Sidenote, Fridge logic will give you this:  
Due to large groups of suddenly missing capes, China and Russia status quo collapsing is part of the back history. Africa stabilizes. Major villain groups worldwide collapses left and right, and some heroic groups too.

But this is background stuff that's not really mentioned until the end…

Then along comes a Canary.  
Canary's court case is just as staged as in canon: to get Canary out of the limelight, before absorption inside the "sealed" Birdcage (aka a one way trip into the Transistor).

**BUT** Due to Accord's difference in rise to power and status as Cauldron member and other minor stuff in the courts of law (notably, a LARGE decrease of villains to represent)… Quinn Calle is free to take Canary's side.

And willing too, after their first meeting.

Sappy Love stuff occurs too.

What this means is that the perversion of justice that is Canary's trial is quashed hard by Quinn Calle's associate aceing the jury.

A bought judge **CAN** overrule the jury, but the resulting hoo haa will (a) expose the corruption, and (b) is not worth it.

But Accord/Cauldron will not be denied, so they went "Stealth mode": Accord took Citrine and some unpowered minions together with Contessa and interrupted a private get-together.

This is the first hint readers get: PtAV finally and visibly glitches against owner for the first time. Quinn Calle, non-parahuman, was able to get in the way of the Transistor as "planned by PtAV behind Contessa's back".

Built and purposed to absorb shards, the Transistor overloads from being targeted on a regular, unsharded person for the first time.

Things go downhill for Accord really, really fast:  
\- Its teleportation activated, the Transistor and Paige Mcabee is lost from Accord's hands.  
\- Cauldron (falsely) accuses Accord of shenanigans, abandons him to the wolves.  
\- The Processes Accord once controls glitch, run amock.

Accord tries to fix things, but can't: PtAV is now working against him. Contessa holds back and watch the fireworks, and even sometimes fans the flame in stealth (getting law and order to be gruff, if not hostile against Canary).

And then we reach the start of Sword and Song 1.0.

There are other PtAV glitches. Can you spot them all?

And that's all, the complete set.

Once again, its been an interesting journey to get here, and a nice exercise in writing.

I hope you've all enjoyed this series. I sure did. It's been an interesting journey here myself.


End file.
